Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps
by ChelseaDaggerCinderella
Summary: Tony and Ziva start up a romantic relationship after "Hiatus." But then Tony begins to work with the Director, Ziva gets framed, Gibbs returns, and season 4 isn't what it used to be. Extended Summary inside. TIVA! ON HIATUS due to family emergency. Sorry!
1. Breaking Apart

**Title: **Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

**Author:** ChelseaDaggerCinderella

**S****ummary:** Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

**Author's Note:** I've had this story stuck in my head for a long time now. It comes in parts, or stages, depending on what you'd rather call it. I, personally, prefer _stages_, but one thing at a time, right?

**Here's the layout:**

Part 1 – the missing four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' –Tiva-style.

Part 2 – Season 4 with a new spin—Tiva-style.

Part 3 – The rest of seasons 4 and 5 re-written…Tiva-Style.

And remember, if you like what you read, let me know because there's no point in me writing this if people aren't enjoying it. Also, if you want to make suggestions, I'm open to good ideas if I can work them in.

That being said, I hope you all enjoy!

* * *

The team watched as Gibbs descended the stairs, his shoulders slumped, defeat and disgust surrounding him. Their eyes tracked him as he moved across the bullpen to his desk and wrenched open his drawer—looking for his gear, Tony realized.

"Oh, I got them, Boss," he said, handing over Gibbs's gun and badge. "I got them from the medics when they took you."

Gibbs nodded silently, stuffed his wallet in his back pocket, and considered his gun and badge for a moment. "Appreciate it," he said, not looking up quite yet, and then he smirked—a not-quite smile to match his not-quite laugh. "You'll do." He handed Tony back his gun and badge, clapped a prideful hand on his shoulder, and stared at Tony, the conviction of his decision blatantly obvious upon his face. "It's your team now."

No one knew quite how to react in that moment. And that's all it really was—a moment. A series of seconds during which you knew what was happening, but you didn't _know_ what was happening—there was no comprehension, not immediately, because there was no precedent. It was _Gibbs's_ team, so what was he saying?

Ducky knew, though. He knew that look on his face. The determination. The disappointment. And Ziva had in some way expected it. The way he was at the hospital, his reaction to her prompting, the memories, and then later, the anger—at what had been done, at what was about to be done, and of course, at what he hadn't been able to stop.

But Abby got hit full blast. _Not Gibbs_, she thought—sadness tinting even her _inner_ voice. _Not Gibbs; he wouldn't leave—he couldn't. Could he?_

Gibbs turned to McGee, all dedication and pride. "Tim, you're a good agent. Don't let him tell you otherwise."

McGee for his part, understood, and nodded like the dutiful soldier he was. "I won't, Boss."

Abby sniffled. "Gibbs—" she squeaked, but was silenced by a determined finger to her lips, and a final kiss dropped on her cheek; the final farewell to their own little ritual.

When Gibbs got to Ziva though, the look he wore reminded her of the secrets they shared, bringing up emotions in Ziva that were simply unacceptable. They made her uncomfortable, and she did everything she could to compose herself.

He was simple and straight to the point—no muss, no fuss. "I owe you, Ziva."

For a moment, Ziva wondered what for. Ari? The cover-up? Bringing his memory back?—abandoning her industrial strength emotional armor to do so? All of the above? She didn't know exactly; but it didn't really matter. She smiled and nodded—her composure intact and a very dangerous but knowing sparkle gleaming in her eyes. "I'll collect, Jethro."

Finally, he clapped Ducky on the back, needing no more than that where Ducky was concerned. "Give me a ride home, Duck." It was a statement, not a command. Of course, Ducky would do it; of course Ducky would be the one who he'd ask. "Of course." Ducky slapped the button for the elevator, calling it up to take one of their own away, presumably, forever, though, no one was thinking that at the time. In a situation like that, very little thinking happens.

Gibbs took one last look around, looking almost carefree. His demeanor was changed—less put-upon and more savoir fare. The elevator dinged, signaling its arrival—and Gibbs's departure. "Semper fi!" he said, his final sign-off—once again, very care-free. And then he nodded, and the two stepped into the elevator before disappearing behind the two closing metal doors. _Ding._

Tony didn't really comprehend much. "Tell me that didn't just happen."

McGee wasn't much better. "That didn't just happen."

"Great." Tony gave McGee a smack on the back of the head. "Lie to me next time, Probie."

"Lying to you will accomplish nothing, Tony." Ziva made a move to return to her desk. It was a sleek move and revealed no emotions to the team about her feelings on what had just happened—not that that was an unusual occurrence, though. "Gibbs lost his Faith, Tony—he quit. We must now accept that."

Disgusted, Abby stalked across the bullpen towards the elevator. She couldn't bear to use the conveyance though, after what had just happened, so she stalked her way angrily to the stairs, presumably returning to her lab.

Tony's face was determined, his voice laced with a hard edge as he diverted his attention from a distraught Abby to Ziva—the closest thing he had to a target at the moment. "Gibbs doesn't quit, Ziva, so I don't have to _accept_ anything."

"Guys," McGee said weakly, trying in vain to calm the situation.

Ziva wasn't fazed, though. "Grow up, Tony...And move on."

* * *

He'd taken her words to heart. And he'd moved on, all right—moved on to her apartment, which was where he found himself that same night, just after two in the morning because he'd worked himself into a frenzy.

They'd all separated after Gibbs left—no leads to follow, no case to solve, no Gibbs to lead them, they'd all scattered—each one dealing with their loss independently and in their own way. Tony had sat in the bullpen until long after it had emptied out for the night. He'd sat there in the dark, staring at Gibbs's desk, willing himself to accept the fact that he wasn't coming back. It wasn't working.

Gibbs's cell was trashed in the explosion—so he called him at home. No answer. He slammed the phone back down in the cradle and cursed a few times. He stalked over to Gibbs's desk but stopped himself just shy of turning the corner around to the other side. He cursed again and took off for another part of the bullpen—any part. He did a couple of laps around the office before stalking back to his own desk. He wrenched the phone up and redialed Gibbs's house. Still no answer. This time when he slammed the phone back down he nearly cracked the screen.

He pounded his fists into his desk, sending his belongings jumping up and off his desk. He screamed in futility. He took in the sight of Gibbs's desk—his belongings strewn about; a life stopped in the middle. It was like Gibbs had died and left all his possessions behind—including his house, and his boat. It wasn't right. He looked at his own desk, filled with all sorts of signs of life, now scattered all about. Then he looked back at Gibbs's desk and saw the signs of his life all over—books, paperwork, folders—except _he_ wasn't there, and it didn't look like he was coming back.

He cursed again and punched the air, his eye catching sight of Ziva's desk. Nothing. No mementos, no pictures. It was sterile—everything in its place; neat, organized, and locked away—emotionless. And Tony got angrier.

And that's how he found himself on Ziva's front porch red-faced with steam coming out his ears, his fist bawled and almost painfully pounding on her door. A couple of dogs barked and he saw a small light snap on in the duplex to the left. He realized that he'd more than likely disturbed some of Ziva's neighbors but he didn't feel especially bad over that at the moment; not that he'd had much time to contemplate that, though—Ziva never gave him the chance. Before he'd even been able to muse over the idea of having Ziva's irate neighbors to deal with in some capacity or another, the over-sensitive, trigger-happy Mossad operative already had her Sig trained on him, anger emanating from every pore of her body—all traces of sleep gone as she took a moment to evaluate the "threat" before her. "It is 0230, _Tony_." She still had the gun trained on him, but unlike before, he was too annoyed to actually care right now.

"I'm well aware of that, Zee-vah." His words were clipped and harsh; evidence of just how much frustration he had pent up, as well as just how much he was trying to keep it in check.

She lowered her gun in a huff. "This is something that could not wait until the morning?"

"It _is_ the morning, Ziva." His tone wasn't so much sarcastic as it was menacing, a mockery—and menacing. He had an almost manic gleam in his eyes.

Ziva wasn't scared of him, but he was worrying her so she stepped back and widened the space between her body and the door, allowing him entrance if he so choose—which he did, apparently—as he barreled his way past her, making sure to knock into her rather roughly as he went. She shut the door with more force than necessary to close it but not more force than necessary to get the point across to her visitor that she was in no mood to be toyed with.

They'd all had a hard day, but Ziva's mood was compounded by her actions at the hospital earlier. Breaking down was not something she did often—or at all. It went against every instinct that had been so ardently instilled in her. She had certain emotions running through her for the first time in a quite a while. They were raw and they were making her extremely uncomfortable. Her actions, her breakdown, her tears—they were weaknesses and they made her feel as if she did not belong in the skin she was wearing. She had been lying awake in her bed in a persistent state of unease.

She was disgusted with the way she'd behaved and all it was doing now was playing tricks with her mind. She was losing focus and she needed time to compose herself and readjust her settings, so to speak. Tony's sudden, unexpected, and unwanted appearance was only serving to aggravate her current situation. "What do you want, Tony?"

"You were out of line today, Ziva. You—"

Ziva scoffed and crooked an eyebrow, dangerously. "You have come to scold me, Tony?"

"Our usual brand of jibes and jokes is one thing, Ziva, but today you went too far. Wrong thing to say and the wrong time. No one appreciated it."

"I think you mean that _you_ did not appreciate it, Tony. Just as _I_ do not appreciate being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night so that you can stand here and throw a sissy fit."

"Hissy fit," he corrected through clenched teeth. "It's _HISSY FIT_."

She stepped dangerously close to him, her whisper laced with dangerous intent, "This is where I advise you to leave, _before_ I lose my temper."

There was a part of Tony's brain that warned him against crossing this very dangerous line he was straddling with his _very_ dangerous partner. Tony ignored it. "I'm shaking, Ziva," he mocked. He'd barely finished speaking before Ziva had him up against the fall wall near the hallway, her arm at his throat, all but crushing his larynx. He made a choking sound. "Okay," he croaked, "I lied."

She pushed down harder for a moment and his eyes went wide before she released him with a shove and an exasperated scream. Tony sagged a little and rubbed the red mark staining his neck. Ziva paced her living room furiously, much like Tony had been doing in the office not too long before that. She was muttering in Hebrew and gesticulating wildly. Tony was far from fluent but he imagined—from the harsh sounds—that Ziva wasn't describing her love of fluffy little bunnies. She stopped suddenly and crossed back to where he still stayed pressed up against the wall. "_You_ are not the only person who is allowed to be angry, Tony!"

"I know that," he rasped, his voice hoarse. "Ziva—"

"No!" She punched the wall. "Today was…_horrible_. Yesterday was…_horrible_. The past few days have been by no means easy, Tony—for any one of us. Do not allow yourself to believe that others do not feel as you do, but we no longer have the luxury of continuing on as if things were usual business."

"Business as usual," he muttered dejectedly.

"You are allowed to be angry, Tony. At Pin Pin, at Welsh," she hesitated for a moment, "At Gibbs. You are even entitled to be angry with me for my hasty words. But you are not entitled to do it whilst you look down your face at me."

_Nose_. He didn't correct her this time; he knew what she meant—and he knew she was right. He hated that. "I know." He took a deep breath and straightened his spine. "I'm—"

"Do not apologize, Tony. I do not want your apology. I do wish to have my privacy—so I too may have the opportunity to be angry."

He nodded and walked calmly to her door. When he looked back she was right behind him, her hand on the doorknob, with no trace of her previous anger towards him showing on her face. He hesitated for only a moment before turning around and locking eyes with her. "So which one are you angry with, Ziva?"

She blinked. There were a few moments of terse silence during which Tony thought perhaps her answer would be that it was he she was angry with. He started thinking of something to say in response to that when he heard her say in an almost inaudible voice, "Myself." He didn't exactly have a response to that and he never got the opportunity to give one. "Goodnight, Tony," she said stiffly but with a small nod.

"Goodnight, Ziva."

* * *

Tony didn't sleep that night. He went back to NCIS—back to _his_ desk and Gibbs's desk—and started to slowly trade places. He was displacing Gibbs with every item that he removed and replaced with one of his. He shook his head ruefully. Transitions weren't supposed to be as painful as this—if at all; but then again, this wasn't exactly a transition. Transitions were meant to ease a change over time; to gradually remove the old and gradually add the new. But Gibbs quitting was never going to be something easy, _nor_, Tony thought to himself, _gradual_. It was a hard blow, a slap to the face so hard that there was no point in offering the other cheek because it was already bruised. Gibbs was gone, Tony was in charge, and he couldn't think of one single thing to do to help better the situation other than to remove Gibbs from the bullpen. It just didn't seem right. Nothing did.

_Ding._

* * *

It didn't take long after Tony left her apartment for Ziva to feel guilty—and concerned. She knew Tony was under undeniable pressure right now and he had a right to be upset. He was her partner and she'd just let him stalk off into the night, upset, and as far as she knew, alone. That was unacceptable to her.

_Ding_. She got off the elevator and walked through the bullpen, not at all surprised to see Tony staring back at her expectantly. She knew he'd probably have come back here after leaving her place, and he didn't disappoint.

"What are you doing here, Ziva?" His tone was softer now than it had been earlier. Tempers had obviously cooled—or at least succumbed to the same exhaustion as the rest of them.

Ziva cleared her throat and readjusted her stance awkwardly. "You may be the team leader now, Tony, but you are still my partner, and I am sorry for not—"

He gave her a little half-smile, "Ziva, I'm okay. I promise."

"You are _not_ okay, Tony, and that is not to be unexpected. I was harsh earlier—and I did not listen to _what_ you were saying. I am—"

"Don't apologize, Ziva," he said, smiling at her and coming closer to her. "It's not necessary."

She nodded and took a deep breath. "Okay."

"Okay." Tony turned back to his task, clearing more space on what was now his desk and transferring more of his juvenile possessions to their new home. When he turned around, though, Ziva was sitting at her own desk looking at him with an expression that he couldn't quite place. "What?"

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, "I'm listening, Tony."

That was how it started. He and Ziva talked through the rest of the night about his worries and apprehension. They didn't talk much about Ziva's own feelings—she mainly listened and reassured him that he was not crazy, or weak, or any of the other particularly unsubstantiated adjectives he'd applied to himself over the past few hours.

Initially, he didn't think that she would understand, or at least, fully ascertain what was going through him—but she did. She did him one better, as he found out that night—she sympathized and even _empathized_ with the situation on some levels. He had to deal with the pain of Gibbs leaving compounded with the responsibilities and fears of running his own team, all the while feeling as if Gibbs were still looking over his shoulder because, she knew, it would always be Gibbs's team, if for no other reason than they all would be loyal to Gibbs and each other above all.

"It's like the answer is right in front of me, but I can't see it. It's a hazy picture of what I _should_ be doing and no matter what I do; I can't make it any clearer."

"You do not have to have all of the answers, Tony—not now or _ever_ for that matter."

"Gibbs did. Every time there was a problem he knew just what to do. He made it seem so easy, too, and obvious."

"No one is expecting you to be Gibbs, Tony."

He scoffed at that and bucked out of his chair, almost violently. "Yes, they are." He turned his back toward her and shook his head.

She didn't say anything because she knew he was right. They were all expecting Gibbs-caliber excellence out of him—including Gibbs, wherever he may be. She sighed in defeat. "Yes," she agreed, reluctantly, "They _are_."

He chuckled bitterly. "So _what_ do I do?" It wasn't so much a question to her or to himself, so much as to the room—the room that would always hold Gibbs's shadow.

Tony felt Ziva's hand on his shoulder as she prompted him to turn around. Her eyes were determined, and her voice was steadfast. "What you have to."

He shook his head. "So, am I supposed to be Gibbs, or myself?" he asked rhetorically, and rather jadedly as well. "Am I the fill-in or the replacement? Do I hold on to hope that he's coming back or do I force myself into believing that he's not still here? And how do I make everyone else feel that way too? Cuz, I'm tellin' ya, Ziva, there isn't going to be _one_ person here who'll actually believe Gibbs isn't still here—he's a damn entity around here. Christ, the man'll be an un-dead ghost haunting this place until—"

"Until what, Tony?"

There was silence. "This isn't going to be easy…"

"No one said it would be, Tony. No one even _thinks_ that." He was shaking his head, blowing her off as if she were blowing smoke up his ass. She grabbed his face, sandwiching it between her palms. "But he chose _you_, Tony! He did not just quit and leave, he left the team to you for a reason. You are more than capable, Tony. This I know. And you know it as well. This is why you will pop yourself out of this funk—"

"_Snap_ myself out of this funk, Ziva?"

She just ignored him and regained his attention by gripping his shoulders, "—and do what you _have_ to do. You do not need to be Gibbs, Tony; he trained you, you know what to do, Tony. _You_ know what to do; _you_ do. I promise."

* * *

**So...? What did you think? Feel like reviewing??**


	2. Going with the Flow

**Title:** Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

**Author:** ChelseaDaggerCinderella

**Summary:** Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

**Author's Note:** I really want to thank everyone who reviewed—you're all _Top Gun_ in my book! I _really_ appreciate the effort you take in reviewing—it really does make me want to update faster. Also, a few of you mentioned that I seem to have everyone _in_ character—that's something I really work hard at, so if I start to slip, please let me know. That being said…_on with the show!_

* * *

It had been three weeks since that night in the office. In that time they'd had four cases, one new team member, and Tony and Ziva hadn't exactly brought up their conversation again. They weren't ignoring that they had talked so openly with one another, but it was most definitely not their most comfortable moment.

The two hadn't really brought it up to one another, nor had they ever truly acknowledged it outside of that night and the post-mortem mumbled thank-you's the next morning, so it was truly surprising to Ziva when Tony showed up on her doorstep once again. He wasn't angry this time; in fact, if Ziva's nose was any indicator, he came baring Chinese food.

Ziva was slightly agape as Tony ambled past her through her living room as if it were the most casual thing in the world. "Lo Mein, Chow Mein, Moo Goo Gai Pan, egg rolls, and—what?"

"I am confused. Have I forgotten plans?"

"What, I can't come over spontaneously with food and save a friend from a night of unrelenting, unyielding, never-ending boredom?" He chuckled.

She cocked an eyebrow. "And what makes you think that I am bored?"

"Correction, you're not bored now, but you were before, and would have been had I not shown up with this culinary _treat_." She tried, unsuccessfully, to hide her smile. "_What?_" he asked with mock indignation. She cleared her throat and pushed her hair behind her ears, sitting down at the table and peaking into the bag. "_What?_" Tony queried again.

She couldn't hold the laughter in any longer. "You have come to rescue me from the boredom of existing outside of your general presence? Is that what you are telling me, Tony?"

He didn't it find it quite _that_ hilarious. He relented and began to unpack the food onto her small kitchen table. "Look, at the very least you're scoring free food, and you're saving me from the boredom of—"

"Being without you?" she asked tongue-in-cheek, bursting out into laughter, yet again.

He rolled his eyes and clutched the egg rolls to his chest petulantly, "Behave, young Ziva, or I will be forced to withhold the deliciousness of the egg roll," he warned, mockingly."

Ziva, for her part, put two hands in the air in mock surrender and stood to get plates from the cupboard. Tony continued unpacking the food as she plucked two beers from the fridge. "What is this about, Tony?"

He smirked and put on all sorts of false bravado, "I told you—"

"_Tony!"_ she said, warningly, nailing him with a piercing stare.

He took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes as he handed her chopsticks. "Just one of those days…that alright?"

"Only if you remembered the extra goose sauce."

"Duck sauce," he chuckled.

She winked, "I know."

* * *

"Do you not think I have a life, as well, Tony?" she asked in futility one week and three unannounced, but not wholly unwelcome, stop-bys later.

He slapped the pizza down on the coffee table and removed the DVD case from between his teeth. "Well, Ziva," he said dramatically, "You have NCIS—and, well…me, I suppose."

She slammed the door with mock anger and walked to the kitchen to get plates and napkins. "Do not forget my gun, Tony," she called. "I have _that_ as well."

When she came back in the room he was playing with her TV and inserting a disk into her DVD player. She looked at it with dread. "I feel a headache…" she mumbled to herself.

He spread his arms wide, "Oh, come on! This is a great film, Ziva."

She grabbed the DVD case out of his hands and stared at him, exasperated. "_Grizzly Man! Grizzly Man_, Tony?"

He was using his "announcer" voice. "Man of nature travels through the wild to attend to nature and traverse with the fierce grizzlies of Katmai National Park. Facing danger head-on, sticking to his guns, embracing his love and trust of—"

"He gets eaten, Tony!" she announced, tearing her eyes away from the back of the informative DVD cover.

Tony plopped down on the couch with a bounce and shot a classic DiNozzo smirk her way. "Never said he was a master of common sense, did I?"

They'd moved on from the pizza to popcorn and were currently sprawled over Ziva's couch and coffee table. It was all rather slovenly but perfectly acceptable for the evening of mindless entertainment for which they had planned—or for which _Tony_ had planned.

"Who spends thirteen summers visiting killer animals in the wild?"

"It was his hobby."

"Has the man not heard of sex?" she asked wryly.

Tony shifted, suddenly a little less comfortable than before. "Well, considering he died with his _girlfriend_, I'd say it's a definite possibility."

"But they died together in the woods before being digested—"

"—partially digested."

"—by the very bears he had deluded himself into thinking _trusted_ him."

"Well, I can see you're a fan," he commented, dryly.

"In Mossad, we have a word for people like that."

"Cuddle-monkeys?" he joked.

"Targets," she stated, sending an odd chill down Tony's spine. Not exactly bad, actually rather—thrilling. _Thrilling?_ he thought to himself. _Well, that's interesting…_

"You have to let the cinematic experience overtake you."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning sometimes it is easier to think _illogically_ and let yourself be carried away by what's in front of you, rather than scrutinizing every last detail." Ziva just stared at him, poker-face intact, completely nonplussed.

She turned in his direction and he leaned in, all business; their faces not that far apart. Ziva took a deep breath—and held it. "There are times when you simply have to go with the flow of things," he said in a very serious tone of voice, and then proceeded to dump the bowl of popcorn on her head.

Ziva, never one to be outfoxed, outsmarted, outplayed, or outdone, picked up a piece of popcorn from where it had landed somewhere down her shirt—very aware of Tony's eyes watching the trek her fingers made on their scavenging mission—and popped it in her mouth. She arched an eyebrow, "Go with the flow, yes?"

"Yeah," he said, his mouth suddenly dry. "Something like that."

"Something like _that_?" she asked, kissing his lips quickly, taking him by surprise. "Or something like _this_?" she asked as she dumped _her_ bowl of popcorn on _his_ head.

He was stunned for a moment, feeling the tension in the room with every fiber in him. Then he reached up to brush popcorn out of her hair and let his hand remain on her face, cupping her cheek. "Something like the first one," he whispered, and then he fused his lips on hers.

* * *

"I cannot believe we just did that," she said later on that night.

"Really?" Tony asked from his position as Ziva's pillow. He was running a strand of Ziva's hair through his fingers over and over, enjoying the feel of it on his fingertips. ""

"Well," she answered slightly flustered and very un-Ziva-like. "I believe that we—I mean—I…"

"Well look at this," he mocked, a huge grin coming to his face. "Ziva David, super-ninja is all flummoxed. Never though that would of _ever_ happened." He made a self-satisfying sigh and stretched his arms out wide beneath Ziva. "See, to me, this is movie plotline 101 right here. The dedicated partners, long hours, intense situations, deep trust, and of course," he added cockily, "the intense sexual attraction. But, it's good to see I can still make the earth rotate backwards. Always did have those skills."

That sobered Ziva right up. "Eh," she deadpanned, "I've had better."

"Excuse me?" he asked her, looking as if he'd eaten something sour.

"Do not worry, Tony." She patted his stomach as if she were placating a dog, "You performed adequately."

She moved to get up from the bed and the mess of tangled, sweaty sheets they were wrapped up in but he gently grabbed her arm to hold her back. "Adequately?" he asked, less amused, but falling into the cat-and-mouse repartee with ease. "Why don't I believe you, Zee-vah?"

"You are right," she stated with a nod of her head, making him relax a bit. "Perhaps that is too…clinical a term, yes?" He scowled at her. She leaned in closer to him, letting the front of the sheet fall back down to the bed, revealing her to his eyes once again. "Perhaps you would prefer a colorful American metaphor instead?"

He made a move for her head, bringing it down so their lips met in a frenzy of sensation. "I can think of something else I'd prefer, Sweetcheeks," he whispered against her lips as he rolled her over so he was covering her body with his as he ran his hands lightly up and down her sides, his lips making their way down the column of her neck.

"So can I," she said with a grunt as she propelled herself over his body, flipping their positions to her preference. She grinned and attacked his lips again, trapping him to _her_ will this time around.

* * *

When the alarm went off at 0430 the next morning, Tony didn't even bother to try and stifle the groan. "Is this some sort of Mossad torture technique?" he mumbled sleepily into the pillow that his mouth was still sort-of attached to. He didn't get a response—just more annoying, ear-splitting beeping from Ziva's bedside table.

He cracked one eye open stiffly, "Ziva?" Still no response. He rolled over and swatted his mechanical enemy with a clumsy fist, no caring what button he hit so long as it stopped the manic beeping. He managed to lift his head up long enough to scan the room and realize that Ziva wasn't there. "Well this is a first," he mumbled. "Stood up in someone _else's_ apartment." That's when he heard it—the shower running.

He smiled devilishly and managed to pull himself out of the very warm and comfortable bed. The door to the bathroom was partially open already and, as Tony found out, its hinges squeaked when opened anymore than that. He winced at the noise, any semblance of suave surprise tactics fully abandoned.

"Good morning, Tony," Ziva announced, ducking her head around the shower curtain to grin at him.

"I'll say it is," he agreed with a large grin to match hers. He cocked a suggestive eyebrow, "Want some company?"

She laughed; a rumble deep in her throat. _Kind of a turn on_, Tony decided. "My back could use scrubbing…"

He smiled mischievously, stripped his boxers off, and went for the curtain. "On your six, Sweetcheeks!" Then he slapped Ziva on the ass.

"Ah!" she exclaimed; equal parts laughter and indignation.

* * *

"Gear up!" he shouted later on that day, flipping his cell phone shut and tossing McGee the keys. "Dead Seal in his backyard on base."

McGee, Ziva, and Lee all grabbed for their guns, ID, and backpacks as Tony stalked his way out of the bullpen. "I'll call Ducky en route," Ziva offered. Tony just grunted his response.

* * *

"The irony of ironies," McGee said as he snapped pictures of the crime scene.

"How is a dead Lieutenant ironic, McGee?" Lee asked while attempting to sketch the scene.

"He was a Navy Seal," Ziva whispered in her ear conspiratorially.

Lee still wasn't getting it. "Found dead in a kiddy pool," McGee clarified. Lee's eyes were still a little clouded. "A trained aquatic Naval officer—found floating in a child's pool," he tried again, a little more forceful than necessary.

That earned him a smack in the head from Tony. "A little louder, McGee, I don't think the grieving widow quite heard you."

"Right, Boss. Sorry."

"Don't apologize, McGee."

"Sor—right, gotcha, Boss."

* * *

They had been working on the case all day and now, according to the clock, all night as well. "Go over it again," Tony ordered.

McGee worked the large monitor in the center of the bullpen with the controller in his left hand. "Right, okay. Lieutenant Brian Constance; 34, a Navy Seal, in impeccable health—"

Ziva rolled her eyes. "With the exception of the fact that he is currently deceased."

"...he was on 12 day leave from exercises in the Gulf, nothing worth killing him over. His wife, Belinda Constance is your average housewife; mother to 4 year old Trent and 2 year old Helen, retired from Marque Pharmaceuticals about 5 years ago; she's clean. According to Ducky's preliminary findings the Lieutenant's COD was drowning. Obviously, foul play."

Tony was unimpressed. "Seeing as a trained Navy Seal isn't a likely mark for drowning in the shallow end of a three foot plastic inflatable pool, I'd say I'm still waiting for you three to give me solid _why_, _who_, and _how_." No one really moved, and so Tony's face and tone both hardened. "Consider that an invitation, people!" Then they scattered.

* * *

"It does not make sense," Ziva said the next night, while she and Tony were sprawled out over her couch, take out food and case files strewn about everywhere.

"What, McGee's haircut? I know." He clutched his chest, "It's almost painful, right?"

Ziva just shook her head. "A man drowns in a child's pool and the only signs that things are amiss are a bump on the head, elevated hormone levels, and that said person is _in fact dead_!"

"Hey, those elevated hormones can be a killer," he said suggestively as he made a move for her waist, bringing her forward, inch by inch, just a hairsbreadth away from her mouth.

"Excuse me," she said, pulling away. "What happened to _nothing above the case_, Mr. Team Leader?"

He cleared his throat dramatically and picked up a case file to read, "You're right, we have to be professional." She nodded and did the same for a few moments before they both tossed their folders and Ziva nailed him to the couch with her mouth.

* * *

It was several hours later that both were awakened by the ringing of a cell phone; Tony's cell phone.

"Tony," Ziva mumbled, elbowing him to get his attention.

"Mmfph," he answered, groaning.

"Answer it before I kill it."

He moaned again and reached over to grab it from its place inside his pants, which were tossed on the floor. "DiNozzo."

It was Abby. "Omigod, Tony, I cracked the case!"

"Abs?" he asked blearily. "You went home hours ago, what—"

"I know, I know," she said, _far_ too excited for the time of day—or night, as it may be. "But something about this whole case had been bugging me; I mean what self-respecting grown man drowns in his kids' blow-up pool, right?"

"Abby—"

"So I went back and rechecked everything, but specifically his blood tests. A guy that size doesn't roll over and play dead for _anything_ let alone a little, tiny—"

"_Abby!_"

"Right, so I re-checked his blood and found traces of a compound found in most depressants; downers, like say Prozac and Valium, except we didn't find anything like that in his system. All standard drug tests came back clean, so I went back and checked _everything_; standard, non-standard, _everything_."

"And…?" he prompted, sitting up and pulling on his pants. Ziva was watching him behind slatted eyes, obviously not loving the idea of having to go back to work _now_—not that he was loving it any more than she was.

"_And_, I got a hit. Our Navy Seal was drugged and pushed."

"Anyway to backtrack the drug of choice?"

"Already done. The drug I got the hit on isn't on the market yet. I managed to pull a comparison from the FDA's database on upcoming releases. Guess what manufacturer is responsible for Lieutenant Constance's big dive?"

Tony pulled his shirt over his head, pissed at himself for not seeing it before. "Let me guess: Marque Pharm?"

"Bingo."

"Good work, Abs!"

* * *

And so it continued on, much like this for the next few weeks; working at the office until they lost a lead, and then dinner and case files at Ziva's until they lost interest and moved on to more _intimate_ things.

"I find this movie most interesting."

"I thought you'd like it," Tony beamed, throwing his arm over Ziva's shoulders on the couch. "Can't go wrong with Cusack," he added.

"It is a simple premise, yes? Silly, and unrealistic; no assassin would be so—sloppy—" Tony rolled his eyes at her evaluation of realism (obviously flawed when it came to movies, but they'd work on that). "—but it is most definitively entertaining; it amuses me." She smiled.

"Ah," he sighed, stretching his legs out onto the coffee table. "Nothing like a closed case and a good movie to put a guy at ease."

"Is that all it takes?" she asked, tongue-in-cheek.

He grinned, "Well, I could think of one or two other things, of course." He bent his head down to kiss her.

"I bet you can," she said, and kissed him again, breaking away suddenly when she spied the movie again out of her peripheral vision. "Oh!" she said excitedly. "This should be good!"

He chuckled to himself and shook his head, "I've created a monster."

* * *

**Ok, so I'm preparing you all now: As it stands now there is one more chapter of straight-up TIVA goodness before we head into the second stage, which is a little hard for me to describe, but basically it's the TIVA scenes from the first half of season four with Tony and Ziva's thoughts and some back story as it relates to the four months that I've created here. Whew! **

**Okay, so who's in the mood to review? Cuz I heard Einstein used to say that the number of reviews is directly proportional to the speed at which the author will post a new chapter...hehe. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Inevitability

**Title:** Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

**Author:** ChelseaDaggerCinderella

**Summary:** Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

**Author's Note:**

**M ****E Wofford** – I appreciate the pre-praise on the Jeanne storyline, but alas, I could not _bear_ to re-hash every Jeanne scene like I've done (or in your case, _will_ do) with most of the Tiva scenes, so they are few and far between. Thank you for saying that though, because I was worried about the possible reaction to the pro-Jeanne thoughts of Tony's, but as you said—"it must be done." I think I've managed to capture the spirit of Tony's thoughts on the situation, though and I hope you all agree as well.

**zivaNtony4eva** – Thank you for that; it means that I've done my job correctly. ;)

**Peacheh-Kate** – Oh how I wish! I'd totally have Tony slapping her butt all over the office, but alas, they are a _secret_ couple—much to my chagrin—and therefore must keep a low profile. However, I'll see if I can work in an ass-slap later on in our show…haha.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed—it's much appreciated.

* * *

As Ziva lay in Tony's arms that night, she couldn't help but to think about what they were doing—lying to their friends, their colleagues, and their boss. There was no way for this to end well—they either ended their relationship (something that wasn't exactly high on Ziva's to-do list at the moment) or they came out with it, which would inevitably land them in an extremely volatile situation.

They wouldn't be able to be on the same team—they couldn't be—especially with Tony as team leader now. If Gibbs were still the team leader then there was a slight chance that things would be different, but that obviously wasn't the case now. And her position as Mossad Liaison Officer was a tenuous one at that. Jenny was doing her a favor because she couldn't bear to be in Tel Aviv—a Mossad operative for her father—after what she'd learned—and done; not that Jenny knew the specifics…

She sighed heavily—a distressed sound that Tony picked up on immediately. "Well that doesn't sound good," he said, only half-joking. He'd surprised her—she didn't realize that he was awake. "Wanna share with the class?" he asked.

She sighed again. "I—I am worried."

He picked up her hand from his stomach and intertwined their fingers, his thumb running slowly over her knuckles. "About something in particular or just general quandaries about the fate of the human race?" She was silent. "Oh," he said, suddenly understanding. "_That_ worried, huh?"

"How does this end _well_, Tony? Does it?"

"What?" he asked, sharply. "End or end well?"

"Either, I suppose."

"Nothing like cutting to the chase, Ziva," he said, a little annoyed.

"I did not—" she started, her temper flaring. She inhaled sharply, "I did not mean it like _that_, Tony. I do not wish for this to _end_, I am simply looking ahead."

"Well, what's wrong with staying in the here and now? I'm liking the here and now, Ziva—quite a lot actually."

She narrowed her eyes, her demeanor very Mossad-logic as opposed to a woman having a serious discussion with her—uh, paramour. "But that is not logical, Tony."

"GOD!" he groaned, and propped himself up, roughly. "You and the damn logic, Ziva! What the hell is the matter with just _being_, for once?"

"You are angry," she observed.

"Correction, I'm _annoyed_."

"I do not believe that to be any better, Tony, but regardless, I do not wish to fight." He was silent. "That was not my intention, Tony. I did not even begin this conversation, yes?"

"And yet we're having it," he noted, a little icily.

She sighed heavily and sat up, straightening her spine, and stared into his eyes point-blank. "We are currently undefined, Tony, and I am fine with that. I, myself do not require definition at this juncture. What I _do_ require is a strategy—an understanding, if you will—that we are playing a dangerous game, Tony. We are essentially walking a tight-rope without a net, and that is not something I will allow myself to fall victim to without weighing all of my options."

"_Our_ options, Ziva."

She waited a beat. "Yes," she agreed.

He swallowed hard. "Okay."

"Okay." They resumed their previous position, their bodies still tense, and, they both noted, as they drifted off into what was to be restless sleep, that that conversation had essentially served no _useful_ purpose…

* * *

It had been a week since the disastrous conversation that had left the both of them awkward and tense for days. Tony had been working with the Director lately; briefings in MTAC and the what-not. They hadn't spent the night together since the _fight_ (if it could even be classified as such), and time spent together in the office had been limited—to such a degree that Ziva wondered if Tony hadn't been doing it on purpose.

It was late one night—well after ten—when Tony entered the bullpen and took in McGee and Ziva's forms, each huddled over their own respective stack of paperwork. Tony felt himself give in to the urge he'd been trying to keep at bay all week. He'd missed Ziva, but he couldn't shake the awful feeling that came with their _discussion_. He crossed to his desk and sat down, placing his coffee cup on an old file as he went, feeling the burn of Ziva's eyes tracking him. "McGee," he barked, startling the Agent out of the trance of paperwork he'd been in.

"Yeah, boss?" he stood up.

"Go down to the lab; give Abby a hand cataloging before she's here past her _wake up_ call."

"On it, boss." And he was gone.

"Subtle," Ziva commented dryly.

He shrugged. "Perk of being the boss." More silence. He hesitated before trying again. "I don't think that there's anything to necessarily apologize for."

She shook her head. "Nor do I."

He nodded but didn't smile, "Good—cuz I'm not gonna."

She straightened in her chair. "I am not expecting you to."

"Good."

"Good." She stood up and sauntered over to his desk, perching herself on the corner. He leaned back in his chair. "Then we are in agreement, yes? It was an unfortunate conversation."

"That accomplished nothing."

"Except to make us—uncomfortable."

"And grumpy," he added, offhandedly, looking to her quickly, noticing her fingering his letter opener absentmindedly.

"We will have to deal with this eventually, Tony." She looked almost pained having to say it.

"I know," he said softly, taking her free hand into his, like he had so many times before, entwining their fingers and rubbing her knuckles with the pad of his thumb. "But eventually isn't here yet." He placed a soft kiss to her knuckles.

"True," she said, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She put the letter opener down to run both of her hands through his hair, cocking her head to the side to study him. "As you say, for now, we can just _be_, yes?"

He shot her a cocky grin, "I'd like to think so, yes."

She dropped a quick kiss onto his lips and picked up the letter opener again, almost out of habit. "Okay then," she said, and spun to go back to her own desk when she felt Tony's hand on her arm.

He spun her around and brought her almost entirely into his arms. He grinned down at her again. "What is it with you and my letter opener, anyway? You're always heisting it, or coming over here to fiddle with it. You two involved in some way I should be privy to?" he asked, amused.

She arched her eyebrow at him and smiled, "It is excellent for throwing, Tony; the balance, the shape," she explained, trailing her fingertips over the arcs of the blade sensually. Tony's mouth went dry again, his breath momentarily knocked out of him. "—all perfect," she finished.

"Really?" he asked, grinning.

"Really," she confirmed with a wink, trailing her right hand through his hair, her left on still fingering the blade.

He ran his fingers through her hair as well, and brought her face close, whispering against her lips, "Well, I'll tell ya what. When I'm done with it—it's all yours." She laughed heartily as his lips captured hers.

* * *

"I enjoyed that picture," Ziva stated joyfully as the left the movie theatre.

Tony threw his left arm around her shoulder with a grin, "Ah, there's nothing like seeing it on the big screen."

"I did not know that older movies were still shown in American Movie theatres. Not to say that _The Princess Bride _is all that old in the grand scheme of things, but I thought the movie business to be all about the new release."

He sighed dramatically, "Alas the capitalistic money-making society of this day and age does tend to monopolize the large-screen industry here, but there are always the hold-outs—the scant few theatres that dare to shirk the stereotype of the now and take a trip back down memory lane with a classic tale of danger, mayhem, swordplay, and _yes_," he announced with a flurry of hands, spinning Ziva around with a twirl that she had not expected, "—true love." He winked and laughter started bubbling up out of her chest manically, a large smile gracing her features.

They started walking again, both shaking their heads, trying to clear away the huge grins they wore. Ziva sighed, "Only you, DiNozzo, only you…"

* * *

Tony swore to himself softly and hit the speed dial on his cell. Ziva was going to be pissed. She'd been cooking for hours as far as he knew and he'd been looking forward to tonight all week. _But when duty calls_, he thought to himself. _Too bad I can't actually __tell__ her that it's duty calling and not—well, best not to go there_, he decided. He got her voicemail—_small favors_, he thought to himself. "Hey, it's me," he said, being careful to not give anything away in the middle of NCIS. "Listen I can't really explain right now—it's a little complicated—but I'm probably not going to make it tonight. I know you've been working hard and I appreciate it. To be honest, I'm kind of ticked myself; I wish I could come tonight, I really do. We'll have to try it again another time. I'll talk to you later." He paused, sighed, and shook his head pitifully, "Bye."

* * *

Tony was not at his desk. _An errand_, he had said, leaving suddenly and out of the blue. She picked up her phone, dialing Tony's cell. She hit his voicemail. "Hi, um, well, I thought you might want to try for dinner again tonight. I might even be talked into letting us watch something ridiculous." She laughed. "Let me know. Bye."

* * *

Ziva was not happy, she decided, as she sat in her kitchen, staring at the stovetop where a delicious stew sat simmering—for the past three hours. _The meat is most likely disintegrated by now_, she thought to herself wryly, as she took another sip of the Scotch in front of her, the ice in the glass clinking softly against the sides of the tumbler.

Tony was three hours late. He hadn't called, and he hadn't picked up when she called—and she _had_ called; for all of hour one. She'd dial his cell phone and home phone alternatively every ten minutes, with a sporadic call to the office every now and again as well. She'd left two messages, and had even succumbed to sending him a text message. She'd gotten nothing.

That's when she'd started to worry, so she called McGee to see where he was, if something was up, or if he'd heard from Tony. _"Just a feeling, McGee,"_ she'd had to assure him when he asked why she was asking.

She'd paced her living room after that, for about ten minutes, trying to come up with either various explanations or solutions in her quest to find out what was happening with her partner—because at this point, that was how she was thinking. _After all,_ she'd thought, _what else could be keeping him besides work?_ And that's when it occurred to her that he wasn't able to tell her that. _Was he under duress?_ That's when she's recognized the ball of panic sitting in her chest—and she didn't like it.

She was just about to stalk out the door, Sig in hand, and go storming the office and his apartment when she'd gotten a text message from Tony. _A text message!_

_Sorry about dinner. Can't talk. Am ok. T_

And so she'd been trying to calm herself by self-medicating because as much as he'd seemed to deserve it, she really didn't _want_ to kill her partner—it just felt like it.

There was a knock on the door. It was soft, and if possible, it sounded…guilty. Ziva decided not to answer. He knocked again. "Ziva?" she heard him call. She still didn't move.

Tony banged his head against her front door. _Damnit!_ He'd screwed up and he couldn't even blame it on anything else. Well, he _could_—but he couldn't; was forbidden actually. He shook his head, sadly. This was bad. Ziva was getting trampled on because of the La Grenouille case and he felt like an ass for doing it to her.

He turned around and leaned his back against Ziva's door waiting for her to open it and let him in. Well, _hoping_ was more like it at this point. His head made a 'thumping' sound as it hit Ziva's door with a sense of futility. "Come on, Ziva, I know you're there—I can feel the fury from here."

Ziva stalked to her door prepared to let her rage loose upon him verbally. She reached for her doorknob and wrenched it open violently—and was promptly leveled by a flying DiNozzo as he fell backward into her apartment and _onto_ her. She landed on her back with Tony right on top of her, the back of his head finding a resting place on her chest.

He chuckled bitterly, "Well, this about sums up the evening…"

"Ugh, Tony!" she groaned, shaking her head. "What am I going to do with you?" In response, he let his hand slide up her leg, deliciously. "Tony!" she scolded, but her voice has a suspicious _purring_ to it.

He turned around, still covering her body with his own. He wiggled his eyebrows and shot her the _Tony-grin_ that made her smile. "Come on, Zee-vah. You know you can't resist me…"

"Yes," she said, sarcastically, as she got up from the floor, leaving him there by himself. "It takes almost everything in me to resist the urges I have when I'm around you, Tony."

He got up too, and closed her door. "Well, then we're in agreement. I think we should capitalize on this development," he added, as he took her by surprise and swept her into his arms. "…in the bedroom," he directed.

"You are late, you had me worried, and you stood me up via text message, Tony!" she scolded, but she didn't make a move to remove herself from his embrace. "Do not think that showing up now with this smile is going to make me forget that I am less than pleased with you."

"Fair enough," he said seriously. "So what exactly will it take?"

She looked him in the eye. "Where were you?"

He inhaled sharply. "I had to do something—ran later than I'd assumed and I couldn't talk. I'm—"

"—lying!" she accused; _now_ pulling out of his arms. "Why are you lying to me, Tony? And why do you think that I would not be able to tell?"

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" he asked, offended.

"_Please_; I know when you lie, Tony. It is plainly obvious to me."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, _really_; and do not think that I do not _also_ know when you are attempting to divert my attention from the topic at hand. _Where_ were you?"

"I can't tell you," he said, trying to go with some semblance of the truth.

"Because of work?" she asked, calmer now. He hesitated. "I'll take that as a 'yes,'" she said, and paused. "Fine. I understand not being able to divulge information, Tony, but do not think that it excuses the rudeness of your behavior." He just looked at her—hard—and she stared back with equal fervor.

"Okay," he said, giving her an inch.

She paused, and then she yielded. "Stew is on the stove."

He smiled and threw his arm around her, bringing his lips to her ear. "Thank you," he said, honestly. She just nodded.

* * *

"McGee," Tony barked, "Go pick up our witness and bring her in for a little conversation." After a glance to his right and only a moment's hesitation, he added, "Take Ziva with you."

Tony and Ziva locked eyes for a moment. They looked away at the same time—Tony to his computer, and Ziva towards her gear and then McGee. That was the most contact they'd had in a week. He'd stood her up three more times since the night she'd told him that it was inexcusable to be so crass. She understood confidentiality, but this was a whole new level of—rude.

They'd been fighting about it for the past week. After the fourth time he'd pulled his _I can't tell you_ act she'd stopped inviting him over and he'd stopped asking. It was a silent agreement to not make plans, so he couldn't break them. All it did, however, was make them both crabby and even a little bitter—Ziva, for obvious reasons, and Tony, because the Director had just upped his assignment, and he knew without a doubt that he wouldn't and _couldn't_ balance his duties as team-leader, his undercover assignments gathering intel on La Grenouille, and _two_ girlfriends—both of which would have to be kept secret—without screwing up, going insane, or most likely, both. He no longer could _afford_ to continue on with Ziva and that pissed him off—so he'd been avoiding her; and it sucked!

* * *

Ziva was trapped—again. She'd been having the same dream, well, _night terror_, for eight nights now; ever since they'd found a Marine (one that bore a striking resemblance to a much younger Ari) shot in the head—execution style. She seemed to be the only person who picked up on the similarity; after all, it was a much younger version of her brother to whom the Marine had the misfortune of resembling.

It had struck a chord in her though. She'd been hiding it well—at least she thought so—but each night she was trapped in a hazy realm over which she had no control. She'd see it happening over and over, see herself listening to her brother confess to the horrors he'd committed—and those he'd planned on committing in the future. She saw herself raising the gun, leveling it, and pulling the trigger; either that or she'd actually _pull_ the trigger in her dream, and she couldn't stop it no matter how hard she might have tried.

Then her doppelganger would appear in the corner of the room, laughing at her evilly—taunting her. The apparition was a reflection of the ugliness she saw in herself and in her brother. She supposed there was still some part of her that could not reconcile ever having to execute her brother—no matter the sins he'd perpetrated, or the life she'd saved in the process.

So, each night since they'd caught the case she'd found herself trapped in the hazy world of recreation, where she could do nothing to stop herself from edging toward becoming the same type of cruel monster her brother had become.

_She saw her doppelganger at the top of the stairs. She had her gun. She had evil eyes—murderer's eyes. She listened—and waited. "I want you to know I wish I hadn't had to shoot Caitlin." She does not react to that—not like the real Ziva had that day. "My father. You have the misfortune of reminding me of the bastard." Neither Ziva liked this information, but the doppelganger seemed to feed off of Ari's hate. "He never knew how much I hated him. I wish I could see his face when he realizes he created not a mole but a monster eager to strike at the heart of Mossad and Israel." The doppelganger was almost jubilant with this confession—as if it gave her permission to do the unthinkable._

_And then her time was up. This was her cue—her signal. Now or never; she had to do it—it was her mission. "I've killed enough men in my life, Ari. It's going to be just sweet watching you die." On this day, at this time, it was her mission—to kill her brother. "Sorry to spoil your—" BANG! One shot—that's all it took; he wasn't expecting it. He wasn't expecting to die; he wasn't expecting his sister to betray him—to murder him. And then it replayed—over and over—from every perspective. The doppelganger taunted her and made her feel evil—and dirty. Traitorous. Wrong. _

"_It's going to be just sweet watching you die."_

"_Watching you die."_

"_Watching you die."_

"_You die."_

"_Die."_

"_Die."_

"_Die."_

"_Die."_

"_Die."_

_BANG!_

"No!" Ziva shot up in bed, her Sig in her hand, aimed at an invisible enemy. She was breathing heavily, still in shock. She shook her head back and forth miserably, lowering her weapon slowly. "No," she mumbled, over and over, "no, no, no!"

* * *

Tony was bleary-eyed as he stepped into the elevator at the end of the week, wanting nothing more than to crash for twelve hours before starting all over again. He knew the likelihood of that happening was slim to none, but a guy could hope, right? He heard the _ding_ of the elevator doors closing and rubbed his fingers over his eyes. When he looked up Ziva was right in front of him, obviously having slipped in at the last second.

He nodded. "Ziva."

She took her place next to him. "Tony."

Neither said or did anything more than that for a moment, and then they both went for the emergency stop at the same time. Their hands touched; marking the first contact they'd had since they started playing the denial game. They looked at each other sadly. She took pity on him, though, and said it first. "We knew this would happen, Tony."

"Only a matter of time, right?" _Doesn't mean I have to like it, though_. He tried to shrug it off; tried to keep his tone light—but it wasn't really working. He knew it had to happen—the circumstances were bad all around: she was a member of his team, and he was running a special op for the Director, which, Jenny had informed him, had just been upgraded to deep-undercover op with a blonde bonus.

So, yes, he knew it had to happen eventually, but that didn't mean he was happy about it. He cared about Ziva in many ways, and he was relatively sure that had the circumstances been different, they might have had something—special. Not that the time they'd shared hadn't already been special, but the little part of Tony's brain that occasionally thought about his romantic future whispered to him that this could've been something…_real_.

She sighed, and nodded her head. She didn't like it anymore than he did, but she knew it was probably for the best—at least for now. Her head had been playing tricks on her lately; her night terrors were slowly eating away at her and Tony could not be around for that—for many reasons, but most of all because she couldn't allow the blow to her pride; to her dignity. It was not within her to let someone see her like that.

It was bad enough that Gibbs had already seen her in a moment of weakness—she didn't see the need to add to that list.

So she would walk away from this with her head held high—no outward scars. That was too great a price to pay. They'd had a good time—time she would not soon forget, but time, she realized sadly, that she would have to let go of. They were partners, and he was her team leader—her boss.

She turned the elevator back on and it roared back to life, continuing its journey to the bottom floors. She snuck a peek at Tony without moving her head; he was watching her. She turned to face him. "The job comes first, yes?"

_Truer words were never spoken_, Tony thought sadly. _If only she knew…_

"Yeah," he sighed. He couldn't help it—he had to say something to her; something to ease this feeling of guilt and dread, perhaps even something that would only make sense after everything was said and done. The doors opened and Ziva walked out, stopping at Tony's voice behind her. It was strong and loud. "Cuz in the end, you'll know that it was the job all along." She nodded in agreement, not really thinking about what he'd said anymore than that. "Goodnight, Ziva," he said sadly.

Then Ziva did something that she'd never admit to anyone she had ever done. It was a symbolic gesture to Tony and it would last and exist only in this one moment. She turned around and smiled at him gently, "Goodnight, boss."

Tony let his head hit the wall of the elevator hard as he watched Ziva turn away from him—and walk away.

* * *

**Alas, we have hit the end of our Tiva-licious four months and must now foray into the land of Season 4 _without_ our delectable couple...as a couple. I know—sad, but true. Sigh. Anyway, as I said at the end of chapter two, the next chapter will be the start of Season 4 with a twist. Chapter 4 will be the first of a two-part series of _my_ interpretation of "Shalom," followed by the rest of _my_ version of Season 4 up until the point at which I start completely re-writing NCIS history. **

**Anyone want to guess at what point I start changing things? Think of it as incentive to review...I feed on them. ;) **

**To be continued...**


	4. Shalom: Part 1

**Title:** Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

**Author:** ChelseaDaggerCinderella

**Summary:** Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

**Author's Note:**

Thanks to everyone who reviewed; keep it up because it totally makes me want to post and make the chapters worthwhile. In all seriousness, I have to applaud everyone who takes the time to send me a review, but especially those of you who take time to tell me what you think about this aspect or that. It's good all around because it lets me know what the audience wants. Thanks so much to everyone, again. And ME Wofford, worry not—any and all interactive reviewing is most welcome. My muse is safe for now but if you all hear a scream, then we're all in trouble. Hehe. Anyway, on with it, eh?

* * *

Ziva was _almost_ late for work. She had about 15 minutes to make it to the office without the squeal-squad making an issue of it. She supposed it was a blessing at this point that she drove the way she did. She laughed to herself, thinking that Tony would highly disagree with her at that—most likely he would've been making a joke about death versus tardiness at this point. But he wasn't—because he wasn't there; hadn't been for two weeks—not in the office, at least. It had been a lot longer than that that he'd been missing from her side. But Ziva shook her herself out of _those_ thoughts and cranked up the music blaring from her stereo speakers, focusing on that instead. Bobbing her head to the beat as she made her way, destructively, through Georgetown on her way to the Navy Yard, stopping at a red light, a motorcycle pulling up beside her carrying two bike-suit-clad riders; the picture eerily familiar to her.

Images flashed through her head in quick disarray, making it impossible for her cognitive function to get a hold of what her brain was trying to tell her. Before she'd had the chance to even start piecing her pictogram together the bike took off and Ziva followed it through blaring traffic and car horns—purely on instinct. That's when the bomb detonated.

Ziva swerved and landed on the sidewalk, her car disabled. She jumped out of the car, her Sig already in her hand as she circled around and around, trying to make some semblance of sense. Everyone around her was stunned, no one moved, not an inch—they were all too shocked. Except of course, for the man in the suit, _calmly_ walking away from the scene. She trained her gun on him. "Federal agent," she screamed. "Halt! Hands up in the air! Now!" She was closing in on her target when he turned around. _It can't be_… "Eschel?" And for some reason, she let him go…

She shook herself from her trance and attempted to regain her bearings. _Michael—the embassy. Yes, the embassy_. She holstered her weapon and set out for the embassy, only one thought echoing through her head. _What has my father done now?_

* * *

_Ding!_ The elevator doors opened, allowing Tony to step out into the squad room he hadn't seen in a fortnight. He hadn't even taken a look around in mock-awe when he was tackled by an über-hyper forensics expert with a steal grip. "Oh, yay! You're home! Welcome back! I missed you! Oh…"

He regained his footing and slung an arm around Abby in return. "I missed you too, Abby."

She didn't release him, however. "Oh, did you have fun? Did you go to that cool bar in Düsseldorf?"

He felt like saying, _'Not really, Abby, seeing as I was never really in Düsseldorf. I was on a super-secret assignment, engaging a beautiful young doctor who has essentially become my __mark__ because she has the misfortune of being the daughter of an international arms dealer who, in turn, has had the misfortune of pissing off the Director of NCIS. But I'm not bitter at all—no, not a bit—because I jumped at the opportunity and now I'm reaping the whirlwind, baby.'_ But he couldn't say that; he couldn't tell the truth. He had to lie. "You know, I tried. But, you know, that security conference kept us pretty busy.

"Mmm…" Abby gripped him even tighter.

He took in a shallow breath—all her fierce embrace was allowing him at the moment. "I'm having trouble breathing here," he rasped.

She released him immediately. "I'm sorry!"

He shook it off and made his way into the bullpen. "McGee, look at you! Mm-hmm! All grown up. So what did I miss the last two weeks?"

McGee smiled proudly, "Well, nothing I couldn't handle, Boss."

"Good!" Tony grinned evilly. "And to think the director didn't have any faith in you." He did an internal wicked chuckle. _That was fun. Always best to have a little fun, make the best of a situation. He'll never know I actually recommended to the Director that he handle the team in lieu of bringing in an interim leader. He'll never know. Thank God for small favors._

"She's over an hour late, Sir. That's unusual, even for her." _Believe me, I know,_ Tony thought, _damn woman gets up before the sun! _ Tony kept a straight face, but he was marking Lee's words, carefully. _Mantra now; worry later. Right, no judgment-clouding here._ "Okay, there is only one thing you need to know about Officer David."

Lee nodded. "Don't make her angry."

_Well, yeah, that's a good point, too._ "So technically, really, there's two things. The other is…she can take care of herself." Yeah, he knew that one first hand, too…

* * *

Ziva was livid! "I cannot wait any longer! Produce Officer Bashan or I start with your hands and I will not stop until—"

"Officer David," Michael began in Hebrew, just now entering the room. "What did I tell you about terrorizing my men?" He nodded to the other officer. "Leave us."

Bashan sat down on the couch and beckoned for Ziva to join him. "Okay, what seems to be the problem?"

_Where to begin?_ Ziva thought, still very much irate. _Perhaps with the assassination perpetrated on American soil? Or perhaps my witnessing and subsequent involvement in releasing a suspect in said assassination because he was once my teammate? I know,_ she thought to herself, sarcastically. _How about the rudeness of letting her get blindsided?_ "Why was I not told about this operation?"

"I suppose the simple answer would be: your father did not want you to know."

_Endangering my credibility and my respect with NCIS; my current life and everything I have strived for since—no, no I do think about __that__. The audacity of that man!_ "And he wonders why I barely talk to him anymore, Michael?"

"A fact I know he regrets very much, Ziva. Very much."

"I spent a year building relationships and trust with NCIS. How do you suggest I explain this to them?"

"I realize this placed you in an awkward position, but Ziva—"

_Awkward position! I've been made an accomplice!_ "They were sloppy—blatant!" she screamed.

"And you should have known better! The Americans can be quite prudish in their attitudes, Ziva."

_And Tony complains about __my__ English! Since when is a bombing and assassination on a beautiful Georgetown morning __Prudish__?_ She was genuinely confused. "You call what happened _prudish_?"

"That depends. Did you or did you not sleep with him?"

And now she was even more confused. But worse, this time she was also suspicious. _What bearing does that have? And how did we get from murder to sex? And who is he talking about? Eschel? What am I missing?_ "Who?"

"Anthony DiNozzo, your new team leader."

Ziva managed not to give away anything. But just barely, as she _really_ didn't see that coming. _He knows. Ok. He knows. That still does not answer to question as to how that affects what happened today._ "Why do you ask that?"

Bashan took out a file with multiple full-color photos—of her and Tony. "Starting three months ago, Ziva, he's been visiting your apartment at least one night a week."

_That bastard!_ "My father has you spying on me?" _And how does this link to today's events?_

"I assumed that was the reason for your visit."

Ziva was floored. _My God, he doesn't know. But that just means—my God, what has my father done now?_ "Well, you assumed wrong, _Officer Bashan_. I am here because an hour ago a Mossad assassination team killed three people in Georgetown." _Now __what_ _is going on here?_

* * *

McGee spoke softly into the phone, his tone very gentle. "Ziva, just call us as soon as you get the message. We're not worried. Just give us a call please." He hung up.

"Okay, now I'm starting to worry."

"You think she's alright?"

Tony resisted the urge to slap McGee. "Well if she was alright, she'd be here, McGee. The question is: what would Gibbs do in a situation like this?" _You're not Gibbs,_ he reminded himself. _But, Ziva wouldn't want you putting yourself down because of that, dumbass!_

Director Shepard's voice was stone-edged as it drifted to his ears from behind him. "He'd find her, Tony."

_Thank you, __Jenny__,_ he noted to himself, bitterly, the circumstances surrounding his current situation making him feel more than a little hostility towards the Director right now. "I'm working on it, Director."

"Work harder. Metro Police just found her car on a sidewalk in Georgetown."

"Actually," McGee piped up, "It's not that unusual when Ziva's driving."

"Yeah, I drove all the way through Eastern Europe with her. I should know, McGee. But in my experience," she said, coming around to face them, "the FBI usually doesn't concern themselves with traffic accidents."

Tony stood up, suddenly very, _very_ protective and territorial, whether a result of Sacks's presence—as McGee pointed out to him—or Ziva's situation, he was unsure—most likely a combination of both. "What do they want with Ziva?"

"We're about to find out. Together."

Tony was fuming. "No, I was going to say, I still pretty much hate your guts, Sacks."

"Me, too, DiNozzo. Me, too."

"Tony?" Director Shepard questioned, appearing from nowhere, but seemingly having overheard a large portion of the latter half of his pissing match with Sacks. "That question you asked me earlier—what would Gibbs do? Gibbs isn't here. You are." She shut the door to her office.

Tony punched the air with a fist. _Yeah, not helping, Jenny. Cuz when I freak out it's usually Ziva who talks me down from the ledge. Now she's in trouble and I can't do __Jack__ to help her—damnit! Okay, DiNozzo, __think__. Okay, first things first, Ziva needs help—so we'll get her help. We'll get her Gibbs…not the poor excuse for a Gibbs substitute_, he thought to himself disparagingly—a habit that Ziva had been trying to break him of._ Ok. First stop—Abby._

* * *

"Abby," Ziva said through the telephone. "I need you to do a favor for me."

"You name it!"

"First, you can't tell anyone I've spoken to you."

"Except Tony, right?"

Ziva internally sighed. "No, not even Tony." _Oh, how I wish. No! No wishing! Use your head, David!_ "If I talk to him, he'll get in trouble with the FBI." _And there are only so many things I can ask of him right now…_

"What do you need?"

"A phone number." _And a miracle—cuz I'm calling in a favor._

* * *

Gibbs took the phone from Camilla, deliberately ignoring Mike's comments. "Yeah, Gibbs."

Ziva took a nervous breath. "Hola! Ah, how's Mexico?"

"Ziva!" Gibbs was taken aback, clearly not expecting to hear from NCIS for a while, let alone Ziva, and let alone after four months. "How'd you get this number?"

"From Abby. And if it helps, I forced it out of her."

"No," he said gruffly. "It doesn't. What's wrong?"

"Why does something always have to be wrong? Can't I just…" Ziva inwardly sighed; she knew she was full of it. "…speak with an old friend?" _Yes, Ziva, he will really believe __that__._ "Do a little catching up?"

"Today, Ziva!"

_Right, right. Now or never._ "Okay. I may be in a little bit of trouble." _To put it mildly._

"Yeah?" he asked, skeptically. "Define little."

She took a breath. "I am currently on the run from the FBI, NCIS, Mossad, _and_ my father."

"Geez! What'd you do?"

_Why is 'guilty' everyone's first reaction?!_ "I did nothing, Gibbs; I swear I did nothing."

"Where's DiNozzo?"

'_I cannot involve Tony'_, she wanted to scream at him. _'You left—quit—and now he's trying, essentially splitting himself in two trying to be __you__ because he thinks it is not enough to be __him__!'_ But she didn't. "He can't help me."

"Well you should talk to Jenny. Jenny can help you."

"I can't."

"Ziva, look, I'm retired! I'm three thousand miles away. What do you think I can do that they can't do?"

Ziva sat down, just barely holding it together. "Honestly? I don't know." She wiped a tear. _God, a __tear__! Not again; no more breakdowns. I cannot bear this feeling. I am __not__ weak! And yet I cannot seem to help better __any__ situation lately. Get it together, David! Please, Gibbs_, she thought to herself. _I'm asking you for help—don't make me beg; I cannot bare it._ "I was hoping, maybe…save me?" _Before I self-destruct…_

* * *

"Two days." McGee's voice was tense. "How long are these guys going to be here?"

"Officer David was here for a year," Lee stated, seemingly defending the unwanted Federal intruders. "Who knows how badly she compromised our security."

_SO__ the wrong thing to say_, McGee thought. "What did you say, Probie?"

Tony had had two days to stew. He'd used every mode of communication he could think of to get a message to Ziva—including a few tricks Ziva herself had taught him straight out of her super-secret ninja handbook—and still all he'd gotten was more silence. Nothing, nada, zilch. No Ziva, no Gibbs, and no answers. He'd tried, unsuccessfully, to figure out what went down in Georgetown but was blocked by Sacks at every turn. He was pissed and he was worried about Ziva. He was in no mood for anymore bad news, so he sure as hell wasn't about to let some wet-behind-the-ears-Probie-flip-flopper like Lee speak out of turn against one of their own—his own. Not ever, but especially not today. "Agent Lee."

"Sir?" she said with a little trepidation, turning around Johnny-on-the-spot.

"Shut up and keep an eye on the Feds. McGee, you're with me; we've got places to be."

Sacks sneered from his position overseeing one of his Agents dumping the computer logs in the bullpen. "Should be done here, DiNozzo, in another…oh, five, six more hours."

Tony just kept on walking, anger emanating from every powerful stride, McGee trailing right behind him.

* * *

They were all in agreement. He turned to Abby. "Abs, I need you to go—"

"I talked to Ziva yesterday."

"You don't bowl with nuns." _Idiot, DiNozzo!_ He mentally head-slapped himself. "I should have seen that coming."

"I do! Ziva made me promise not to tell."

Ducky was confused. "Why would Ziva care if we knew that you bowled with nuns?"

Tony shook his head. "I think she means that Ziva didn't want us getting in trouble, Ducky." _Damnit, Ziva. Everything on your own—you can never ask for help, can you? Self-righteous, idiot girl_, he mentally scolded.

Ducky rolled his eyes. "It's a bit late for that." He turned to Abby. "Where is she?"

Abby held out a piece of paper. "All I have is this phone number."

Tony ripped it out of her hand and started dialing. _Right under my nose the whole time. Brilliant, DiNozzo! Yeah, you're a really cunning Agent, Tony. No wonder she didn't come to you._ It kept ringing. _Come on, Ziva, please._ "Well, there's no answer. Abby, are you sure that this—Ziva?"

_Damnit, Abby! I didn't want him mixed up in this!_ "Tell Abby I'm going to kill her."

He hadn't spoken to her in over two weeks; her voice was a welcome comfort, but that didn't mean that he wasn't pissed at her for not coming to him straight off. He turned away from the group, sarcasm lacing his tense voice. "We love you, too," he said, and tried not to wince too hard at his choice of wording.

She mentally winced as well. "I'm hanging up now." Ziva wanted to punch him right now; half out of frustration because she was touched that he'd cared enough to track her down—though, truly, she'd never doubted it (hence the lengths she went to in order to keep him out of it)—and half out exasperation.

"No, you're not," he demanded. _You don't get to call __all__ the shots, Ziva. You're my officer, I protect you and you do as I say, Damnit!_ "You're going to tell me what the hell is going on here."

She sighed. _Damnit, Tony, why do you have to make everything a battle? I can't afford any more distractions and I can't afford any more screw-ups either; on either of our parts._ "Your phone could be tapped, Tony."

He mentally cursed and winced. _Good point_. "Well, then I'll come to you. I'm also trying to get a hold of Gibbs right now, but I'm not having any luck." _Failing again—can't even call in the cavalry properly_, he scolded himself, ignoring the tiny voice in the back of his head that sounded an awful lot like Ziva (and spouted quite a few of her more pep-talky lines, to boot).

She gave a little monosyllabic laugh and shrugged. _Sorry, Tony_, she thought to herself. "Gibbs? Why didn't you say so?"

"DiNozzo," Gibbs barked, taking the phone from Ziva. "You have ten seconds to tell me why I'm not building a teak hot tub in Mexico."

_She called Gibbs_, he thought to himself a little more melancholy than he'd like to admit. And then nervous. "Nine…eight…" _Oh, boy_.

* * *

**Okay, readers, your mission—should you choose to accept it—is to review like you've never reviewed before. Chapter 5 is essentially ready to go. Want it super-fast? Review, review, review! Ready? Set? GO!**


	5. Shalom: Part 2

**Title:** Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

**Author:** ChelseaDaggerCinderella

**Summary:** Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

**Author's Note:**

So, once again, thank you to everyone who reviewed. I'd like to take this opportunity to let you all know that I've been serial-stalking 's new feature called "Reader Traffic," which, if you're not familiar with it, breaks down the number of hits and visitors to your story and each individual chapter. It also tells you what countries you're getting hits from, which I'm finding, for lack of a better word, COOL.

In light of this information I'd like to give a shout out to: New Caledonia, New Zealand, Mexico, Austria, Spain, Croatia, Philippines, Sweden, Ireland, Belgium, Italy, Canada, France, Australia, Germany, United Kingdom, and of course, to all my peeps in the USA! Thanks for reading, friends! Enjoy.

* * *

Ziva handled the computer, bringing up photos and files with ease. "Target's name was Abdul Wazir. A Syrian wanted for crimes against the State of Israel. Terminated by this man, Mossad Officer Namir Eschel. My former teammate when I was stationed in Paris."

Gibbs nodded, "Who's supposed to be dead."

Ziva smirked. "Apparently he's gotten better."

"Being dead makes for a good cover."

She looked at him; his thoughts mirroring her own not that long ago. "I would agree, but my father claims to have no knowledge of his activities." _Not that I believe him_.

"I'd believe him." She inwardly blanched at how uncanny it was that he knew what she was thinking. "How many times do I have to tell you, I don't believe—" he trailed off, as the sound of the squeaky door at the top of the stairs sounded.

"…in coincidences? I know," she said, drawing her gun and leveling it at Tony as he descended the stairs. _That's how I knew Tony would show up_.

"Lucky for you, neither do I." He nodded in her direction, more specifically in the direction of her Sig. "According to the FBI, I should be the one aiming my weapon at you."

She shook her head in distaste and re-holstered her weapon.

"You were set up. The only Mossad liaison officer in D.C.—"

"Just happens to be present during a Metsada-style hit." Tony sidled up to her, almost touching her, but staying just far enough away from her to feel his presence without _actually feeling_ him.

Ziva flashed back to that morning. _The motorcycle—the hit squad_: _a two-man team. Just like her and Eschel in Paris—only __she__ was the one on the back of the motorcycle._ And then it hit her. _I was driving all over the road. They'd have to have a purpose to get that close to my vehicle—to pull up right next to me…_ "Oh, God; I'm an idiot. He led me to the scene. Eschel framed me." She cursed in Hebrew. _Filthy rotting pig!_

Gibbs nodded. "Yeah, but the question is, why?"

Tony held out a cell phone. "I thought you might be needing this." Gibbs took his coffee instead, forgoing the cell phone entirely. "Uh… I meant the NCIS cell phone. That's my coffee, Boss."

"Do I still look like your boss?"

Tony stuttered and stammered, "Uh… well, maybe if you shaved. And a haircut wouldn't hurt. The smile thing's definitely throwing me off, too."

Gibbs laughed a little—a chuckle. "It's good to see you again, McGee."

Tony blanched. "DiNozzo."

Gibbs was nonplussed. "What'd I say?"

Ziva looked worried. _Oh, God—that's not good. Bad for memory, bad for me…bad for Tony's very unstable ego_. "You called him McGee."

Gibbs smiled, once again unfazed. "Oh, that's probably because if I left him in charge, you wouldn't be on the FBI's ten most wanted list right now."

Tony and Ziva shared a look. Ziva was concerned about him. This was _not_ what Tony needed right now. As a matter of fact, that was probably the exact _wrong_ thing to say to him at this point.

Tony gulped. _That was a little painful, boss. But pretty accurate_, another of his voices whispered. Tony shook it off. "Hm… but you do remember?"

"That I left you in charge? Yeah, I remember I left you in charge, DiNozzo. What I forgot is your taste in coffee. It stinks!" He handed the coffee back to Tony with distaste.

"I like sugar," Tony stammered. "It's my weakness." _God, Tony,_ Ziva thought, desperately. _Don't crumble, Tony—you can do this. You can do this—although I want you __nowhere near this__!_ Ziva's thoughts were at war—two agendas, three actually, but who's counting? "What's our plan?" Tony asked all business.

Ziva turned away from both men, trying to get a hold of herself. _Shake it off, Ziva. Focus!_ The last thing she needed was her screwed-up head getting the two of them in serious trouble—_or worse_, she thought; _if I don't pull it together I could get them killed._ "Things are bad enough for NCIS as it is, Tony. You can't—"

_Oh, no, not this time, Ziva!_ "I don't remember asking your opinion, Officer David!" he barked harshly.

Ziva whipped right around, glad to see Tony believing in his abilities, but severely irritated that he didn't just stay out of it as she had intended. She wielded on Tony, but yelled at Gibbs. "You see? He's been _completely_ insufferable since you left!"

Gibbs was intrigued. "Is that true, Tony?"

Tony and Ziva never broke eye contact. They had an entire conversation with their eyes, both flashing back to the conversation in the squad room that had started it all.

_\\"It's like the answer is right in front of me, but I can't see it. It's a hazy picture of what I __should__ be doing and no matter what I do; I can't make it any clearer."_

"_You do not have to have all of the answers, Tony—not now or __ever__ for that matter."_

"_Gibbs did. Every time there was a problem he knew just what to do. He made it seem so easy, too, and obvious."_

"_No one is expecting you to be Gibbs, Tony."_

_He scoffed at that and bucked out of his chair, almost violently. "Yes, they are." He turned his back toward her and shook his head._

_She didn't say anything because she knew he was right. They were all expecting Gibbs-caliber excellence out of him—including Gibbs, wherever he may be. She sighed in defeat. "Yes," she agreed, reluctantly, "They __are__."_

_He chuckled bitterly. "So __what__ do I do?" It wasn't so much a question to her or to himself, so much as to the room—the room that would always hold Gibbs's shadow._

_Tony felt Ziva's hand on his shoulder as she prompted him to turn around. Her eyes were determined, and her voice was steadfast. "What you have to."/_

"When I need to be," he whispered, sending a meaningful message to Ziva.

Gibbs looked pleased. "Yeah? Hm… maybe you were the right man for the job." He turned. "Our plan is to find _this_ guy before he gets out of the country."

* * *

Tony was almost hollow as he walked next to Sacks, listening to the man tell him that there was a good chance both Ziva _and_ Gibbs were dead. As if either one weren't enough to send him over the falls. "We're still not sure what the hell happened, DiNozzo. Or if she was even in there when then place blew up."

Tony swallowed the lump in his throat. "Bodies?" he choked out.

"No, it was incinerated." Tony's stomach turned over painfully. "We won't even be able to process the scene until at least tomorrow."

"What makes you think she was there?" _God, __please__ let her not have been there. Please…_

Sacks was vague and curt. "A tip."

And that made Tony suspicious. "From who?"

"Anonymous. My guess is probably somebody inside Mossad trying to make nice."

Tony bristled. "Someone tying up loose ends."

Sacks hit the button for the elevator. "For all we know she blew up the place to cover her own tracks." That was most definitely _not_ what Tony wanted to hear right now.

"She was only looking for the guy who set her up." His tone was solid, left no room for doubt, though someone who knew him could hear the pain evident in his voice.

Sacks spread his arms wide against the walls of the elevator indignantly. "You mind telling me how you know that?"

"Because that's what I'd do," Tony said as the elevator doors closed with a _ding_.

Ducky came up beside him as the two fell into a stride. "Not good, Ducky." _Looks like I screwed the pooch yet again._

"You did manage to call them, didn't you?" The hope in Ducky's voice was painful to Tony.

"I got Gibbs's voice mail. I don't think he ever learned how to use it."

"And the number Abby has for Ziva?"

"Not picking up." Tony swallowed hard again, trying to control the constriction in his throat. The thought of never seeing Ziva again was killing him. _And it's my entire fault. Just not strong enough._

"Then there's only one thing for you to do."

_Yup,_ Tony thought, _Game Over—no other cards left to play_. "I know! Let the Director know they're probably dead and resign for disobeying a direct order."

"You'll do nothing of the sort, Anthony DiNozzo!"

Tony was stunned. "And why is that?"

Ducky was adamant. "Because the man who did that is still out there. And I'll be damned if we let him get away with it!"

Tony almost screamed. "What would Gibbs do, right?" He didn't know what to do anymore and the _one _thing he truly did know for sure was that Gibbs could have fixed this and would have if he were here. But he wasn't and of all the things currently in progress, the one thing Tony knew without a doubt was that he was _not _Gibbs. _And I sure as shit proved that today didn't I?_ "I've got a bulletin for you, Ducky. I am not Gibbs."

"No, you're not." Tony felt resigned. "Gibbs quit. You're still here."

_Fat lot of good that did for Ziva!_ "Why wasn't I with Ziva?" _My place is by my partner, not trying to imitate Gibbs and whining about how I'm not him._ "I turned over my responsibility to him without even thinking about it." _I should have been with her. I shouldn't have— _

"Gibbs is one of the most capable agents—"

Tony blew his top, his sadness over Ziva, and his anger with himself, and his desperation to find an answer, all finally overwhelming him. "_Was_, Ducky! You didn't see him. I mean, he didn't even look like Gibbs. I think he went native down there."

"Uh, Tony?"

"His hair is all long and crazy looking. And he's got this scraggly beard. He looks like a pirate or something. His eyes are all bloodshot, probably from drinking hooch from morning to night with Franks."

And then Gibbs was behind him. "They call it a 'redeye' for a reason." Tony turned around, not quite putting two and two together yet. "The flight I was on all night to get here…." Gibbs explained.

And then it clicked. "Oh, geez! You're all right! Good." Then he hugged him—all manly and such. "All right. Thank god." _They're okay. She's okay. She is okay, right?_

"Yeah, thank Ziva." _Thank you, God! She's okay. She's alright._ "Already been blown up twice, Tony. Don't think I got a third one in me." He held out car keys to Tony and dangled them in front of his face. "Space seventy-three. Presents in the back for Autopsy and Abby. Don't be seen." Tony took off. "Hey, Duck!"

"Welcome home, Jethro." Ducky was a little less than enthusiastic in his welcome.

Gibbs headed up the stairs at an angle. "Oh, you got the wrong guy. I'm just visiting. You might want to tell Palmer it's going to be a late night."

* * *

Ziva had no choice but to wait; she could do nothing but wait for others to come to her rescue—and she hated it. Weakness, helplessness, and any other adjective connoting that she was devoid of use was not something Ziva took kindly to. But there was no other option right now, so she waited for her friends to tell her what she needed to know. Only then would she be able to take action. Only then would she be useful once again.

But it was boring. She counted Gibbs's tools, ran up and down the steps, she cleaned her gun, she inspected Gibbs's boat. She did it all. Then her eyes locked on the spot she'd been avoiding this entire time. Right in front of Gibbs's workbench—the one that held his Bravo. It was the spot that Ari died; the place his blood had pooled; the spot where she had knelt and sung to him.

You couldn't tell anything had happened so no one knew that there was this emotional land-mine buried beneath an invisible cloak in Gibbs's basement. No one except Gibbs.

She stared at it for a very long time—too long. She tried to shake herself out of it, but the pull of that entire area was very strong. She'd walk around it and walk _on_ it. She touched it and for a moment she expected something to happen; either for her to feel something or for there to be some sign of the immensity of what she was doing—but there was nothing.

She opened up Gibbs's second drawer and stared down at the Bravo that Ari had held that day—the one he had intended to murder Gibbs with. She could still remember every detail about that night—she had a photographic memory, after all, and she was trained to remember and to recall…and to act—but mostly, she remembered every detail about _that_ night because it haunted her—_every_ night.

* * *

"I'm telling you, Gibbs, don't call her." _She's got it in her head that it's her fault. She'll wanna fix it and she won't wait—too much pride_. Tony knew his partner. "She won't wait for us."

Gibbs dialed anyway and put it to his ear. "She will if I tell her to."

_Yeah, okay,_ Tony thought, sarcastically. _She won't wait—not even if you tell her; not if she's convinced she knows more than you do…trust me._

Tony heard only one end of the conversation, but he could imagine Ziva's responses.

"Ziva, this isn't a debate. We go in together or we don't go—"

"Let me guess," Tony said, "She's going without us?" Gibbs didn't look happy. _I told you so_. _I __know__ her; I __know__ my—_Tony gulped, thinking about all the less-than-_partner_-like time they'd spent together. He inwardly sighed. _I know her…_

* * *

They heard sounds of a struggle from inside. When they entered, they found one dead Mossad traitor, one unconscious Iranian intelligence agent, and one severely bruised but vindicated-looking NCIS agent.

"Ziva, are you okay?'

She breathed heavily, obviously in pain. She nodded, though. "I'm okay, McGee."

Tony wanted to go to her and make sure she was _really_ okay—and then he wanted to smack her for her stubbornness. But he knew he couldn't do either. Not anymore—technically not ever.

"You should have waited," Gibbs reproached.

Tony nodded to the chick on the floor. "Who is she?"

Ziva winced in pain, but tried not to show it. "Iranian Intelligence. They were behind it all."

"How do you plan on proving that?" Gibbs asked.

Ziva smirked a little, a lilt in her voice that Tony recognized as her _I know something you don't know_ voice. "I've been with NCIS for a year," she said. "I'm not just a killer anymore. I'm an investigator." She pulled her shirt up to reveal an audio recorder. She ripped it off, popped out the tape and tossed it to Tony. "Now can I go home?"

Tony smiled to himself. _That's my girl…_ he thought secretly…_very_ secretly.

* * *

**So, I'd like to thank NcisRulz for the review I got. I realize that it can be a bit frustrating because I am retelling a good portion of what has already happened, and I thank you all for sticking with me regardless. I try to put as much _new_ information in these chapters as I can without straying from the topic at hand. We've got some more chapters coming up that are a series of retold TIVA scenes. I've tried to make them as interesting and intriguing as possible, and, as some of you may notice or have noticed already, I am trying to weed out extraneous dialogue so as not to bog the story down with it. **

**That having been said, I'd like to ask you guys for a favor. I'm writing several chapters right now that fall a lot later on in the story, and I have found myself in an interesting predicament. I have a lot more of the _ends_ of chapters written than the _start_ of chapters. In light of this, I'm asking that anyone that has an idea for a scene they'd like to see appear in the story submit them and maybe I'll find a way to get one or more of them in somewhere in the later chapters. I'll credit any scenes I use, of course. **

**And once again, never be afraid to let me know what you're thinking about in terms of storyline because I'd be glad to hear 'em. Thanks again! Now go and review!**


	6. Glimpses

**Title:** Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

**Author:** ChelseaDaggerCinderella

**Summary:** Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

**Author's Note:**

Hey, everyone! So, as I'm sure you're all painfully aware, it's been a few days since my last update. There were a few reasons for this larger than usual gap between chapters and I didn't want to post the next chapter with simply just a 'sorry for the delay.'

Reason one is your basic 'sorry guys but I've been tied up with a super-huge project that has sadly taken priority no matter how much I'd rather be typing up glorious TIVA moments and sharing them with you all.' I apologize for both the delay and for having such a monotonous excuse. ;)

Reason two, however is something of a writer's nightmare that is wholly tied and linked to reason three, therefore my more interesting and predominant excuse is as follows (in two parts). If you've read my author's note from the first chapter then you know my theory about having three _stages_ for this story. This is what happened. I had finished stage one, and I _thought_ I had finished stage two and was free to move on to stage three when I got stuck. You see, I've had this story all planned out for a while, but not every single aspect, so when I started to seriously write stage three, I realized that although I had thousands of words written I had a huge hole in between the end of stage two and the middle and end of stage three. Whoops!

Thus, unable to come up with any transitional ideas, I reread the end of stage two in order to spark my muse, and found—much to my horror—that I'd forgotten a whole branch of my story arc and had to go back and finish the previously finished stage two. This, of course, put me into a panic, because I hadn't even gotten any good ideas to solve my original quandary and as such, I decided that I couldn't post any more chapters until I was sure I wouldn't run out of chapters to post because there is a difference between getting stuck with material in the tank and getting stuck with absolutely nothing to promise your readers.

Now, with the posting of this chapter comes good news: I figured out how to transition and fill up my hole between stages two and three. Yay! I haven't _written_ it yet, but at least we're back on schedule…haha.

Okay, so with all of that I have only one more thing to add, and it's directed to my fifty-fourth reviewer, **gonnabemarine**, to whom I say: you may very well get one—in my absolutely _lack_ of inspiration to fill the aforementioned hole, I started thinking about possible storylines for a sequel (if I manage to write it). Anyway, just thought I'd let you all know that though I had to slow down our pace, I wasn't slowing down my desire for production.

Now, on with the show!!

* * *

Tony hated it when Ziva was right. He looked sullen as he hoisted his pack onto his shoulder and fell into stride next to her on their way from the scene to the car. "So I got used to being in charge; sue me."

Ziva reached for the door handle but Tony's body blocked her path. She grunted in frustration. "Is there a reason why you always have to drive?"

He chuckled bitterly and reinforced his hold on the driver's door. "I could say it's because I'm the Senior Field Agent." He smirked at her. "But mostly because I want to live."

She force her way out from behind him almost violently and leaned back in so she could whisper, rather dangerously. "Then I recommend you get _un_used to being in charge before Gibbs decides to kill you." Then she walked away, rounding the corner of the vehicle towards the passenger seat.

Tony gulped; he hated it when Ziva was right—and he hated it even more when she _knew_ she was right.

* * *

Tony was only half listening to her as they trekked down the hallway towards Lieutenant Sullivan's apartment. She was complaining about _his_ driving. "…we would have been here half and hour ago."

"Yeah. Our bodies could be in a twisted wreck awaiting the Jaws of Life."

"Gibbs lets me drive."

"I have more to live for."

"I see," she said, smirking, and fishing for information. "Perhaps this new mystery girlfriend of yours…"

Tony rolled his eyes. _Oh, I __so__ don't want to go there…too much drama._ "She's not a mystery."

She inwardly sighed. _Always difficult_. "Then why haven't any of us met her?"

_Leave it to Ziva to pick up the scent of the one thing I not only __don't__ want to tell her about but actually __can't_. "Look, it's complicated…" They rounded the corner and stopped cold, drawing their guns and entering the ransacked apartment together.

* * *

McGee was doing his computer thing at his desk, clicking away with a fury, dumping the discoveries he and Abby had made about Lieutenant Sullivan after cracking her encryptions. "Now that we have access to her files, we can see she was using MorphPro to predict the appearance of her adult offspring."

Tony shuddered. "Creepy. No wonder she couldn't find a husband."

McGee shook his head at Tony's 14-year-old-boy mentality. "You know, choosing someone to spend the rest of your life with is not easy." He gestured to the computer—to the program. "Who wouldn't want to know all the facts before deciding?"

Ziva cocked her head to the side, curious. "Isn't that what dating is all about?"

Tony chuckled, "Yeah, you should try that sometime, McGee."

McGee's demeanor changed—he'd been challenged. "Gee, I wonder what would happen if you two hooked up?" he asked, clicking away on his computer.

Tony and Ziva laughed to themselves. _Well,_ Ziva thought in answer to McGee's offhanded comment, _it would never work—though the sex would be great—because work conflicts with anything we would discover between us and I would never be able to fully relax because I am currently being driven crazy—slowly—by the ghosts inside my head that I cannot seem to shake_.

Tony's thoughts weren't all that different from Ziva's. _Figures_, he guffawed inwardly. _Ah, Probie, it would be awesome—the sex, of course, wonderful—and unbelievably relaxing (the sneaking around only making it more thrilling) but alas it can't possibly work because I'd have to keep blowing her off and eventually ditch her for the same reason that I'm lying to all of you_.

The computer made a noise. "Guys, meet your love child."

Ziva and Tony came to stand in front of the plasma at the same time. The both gave off real laughs, smiling realistically for the first time in a while. They looked at each other, smirking devilishly, and then, ever the in sync pair, they ordered, "Do Gibbs and the Director!"

* * *

Ziva was uncomfortable and Tony was amused. _Ziva looks good as a geek_, he thought, wryly, trying _very_ hard not to bust out laughing at the sight of her all geeked-out. Ziva shifted in her seat, readjusting her glasses. "Ninety-second dates? I thought you were kidding me, Gibbs."

Gibbs stood tall in MTAC, confident in Ziva's abilities. "You'll do fine, Ziva. I had marriages shorter than that."

Ziva cocked her head. "Huh. I'm starting to understand why," she mumbled dryly.

Gibbs ignored her. "Tony, sit rep!" he barked.

Tony glanced over the crowd in the bar, moving his gaze from Ziva to the crowd under surveillance. "No silver Accord in the parking structure." He smirked. "Our girl's looking a little nervous, though." _Oh, bit me, DiNozzo,_ Ziva thought. "I think we found her kryptonite. Our big bad spy doesn't do geek."

_What?!_ she thought, testily. "Did he just say Greek?"

"How about both of you shut up!" Gibbs growled.

* * *

"Oh for one," McGee said after Mr. Porch-car left. "Twenty-four more guys to go."

"He's clean, Ziva," Gibbs told her.

Ziva shuddered and twitched her nose in distaste. "Yeah, well, you didn't have to smell him, Gibbs." Tony laughed to himself.

"And do turn up the charm, Ziva Da-vid." Gibbs ordered inspirationally. "You're a geek, not mentally deranged." _Yeah,_ Ziva thought to herself with self-loathing, _unless you're in my bedroom at 2:34 every night. Then you know that I really am mentally deranged…and falling apart._

* * *

"Men are such bad liars," Ziva stated with authority as she and McGee stepped off the elevator and into the squad room.

"But if a good liar was telling you a lie," McGee argued, "you would not know it was a lie."

"Ha!" Ziva laughed. "I would."

McGee shook his head, "How would you know?"

"Know what?" Tony asked, busy balancing a number two on his nose.

"When an expert liar is telling Ziva a lie," McGee said, turning to Tony.

"And this started how?" he asked, pencil still in place.

"Well, I told her that I went to the gym this morning," McGee began, his belongings now put away.

Tony lost the pencil, staring at McGee. "No great skill in guessing you were fibbing there, Probie. You may have lost some weight, and personally I am very proud of you. But gym is definitely not your middle name."

"Okay," McGee nodded to Ziva, "well, Ziva thinks that all men are liars."

Tony's eyes suddenly sparkled with mischief. _Oh God,_ Ziva thought. _Here he goes…_ "Reeeeeallly?" he said, very cocky, standing up and coming over to her. "So if I were to lie to you, you would be able to tell?" Tony smiled to himself. _It's not like we've never played this game before, Ziva. Just not usually this…PG_.

Ziva scoffed, and looked him up and down. "Particularly you."

"You think?" he asked.

_Oh, Tony, you never win this—why do you still try?_—she thought.

"I wouldn't go there, Tony," McGee warned.

"Oh, watch and weep. True or false?" he asked Ziva. "I had eggs for breakfast this morning."

Ziva subtely peeked at the egg on his shirt and pants. "True."

"Lucky guess." Tony bristled. "Last night, I had a date with a very beautiful woman."

Ziva scowled and almost hit him. _He said that on purpose!_ When the two of them used to play this game he'd often say that one referring to Ziva herself in order to initiate _other_ activities. _Well, fine,_ she thought, playfully. _Two can play this game, DiNozzo._ "False."

"She's good," he said to McGee. _Oh I've got you now, Ziva David!_ "My first car was a shiny new red Corvette."

_Ha ha…sorry, Tony._ "False." She smiled. "Strike three…I win."

Tony was agape. _I was sure I had her!_ "How did…how did you do that?"

She went behind her desk, triumphant in her defeat of Tony. "When you said you had a red Corvette, you looked down and to the left. A telltale sign when people lie."

_Ah ha! There is a trick after all, my little Mossad ninja!_ She'd always denied it every time he'd theorized on the source of her apparent skills. "And the date?"

"Tony," she said as if he were a child. "If you'd gone out with a beautiful woman last night, you would have talked about it all day. _Provided you weren't seeing someone in secret—like we were_.

"I would?"

"Oh yeah," McGee said, talking over Gibbs on the phone with dispatch.

"Okay, but how can you possibly know that I had eggs for breakfast this morning?"

"Gear up," Gibbs yelled. "We have a message from a dead guy."

"Ready to roll, boss," Tony said, eagerly.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs called in silent jubilee.

"Yeah, boss?"

He turned around and pointed. "You've got egg on your shirt."

Ziva smirked at him mentally recalling the evidence all over his supremely tight cloth-covered rear. "Not just on your shirt."

* * *

"Women want men to lie to them," Tony said as the two of them stood in the observation room.

"Not true," Ziva said, her arms folded.

Tony's voice morphed into imitation octaves. "Honey, does my butt look big in these pants to you? Actually, yes, sweetheart; your butt looks as big as Alabama—didn't want to say anything, but you got the 'Bama butt going on." He looked at her pointedly. "See? You want us to lie to you, so we do." She rolled her eyes. "Especially if your butt _is_ as big as 'Bama." She turned on him dangerously. _Uh oh! Danger, Will Robinson…_ He stammered and back-tracked. "Not that…not that _your_ butt is big. And not that I've ever looked," he said, mindful of the guy in the back of the room.

"Oh, liar!" Ziva accused. _You've done a hell of a lot more than __that__, Tony!_ _And my butt is not big!_

"Okay," he said, chuckling to lighten the mood. "I _have_ looked, but, you know, I never…" _thought it was as big as 'Bama_.

"Never what?" she asked, interrogating him.

_Wait a minute!_ "Oh, no. I'm catching on to you." _Don't fall for it, DiNozzo!_ "And you're not going to get me to say something and then do your little Mossad true-or-false trick. I'm too smart for that."

Ziva chuckled evilly. "Of course you are…" _Same old Tony…_

* * *

Tony pulled open Ziva's desk drawer and sifted through the contents. He closed it and tried again with the one below it, pulling out her deodorant and applying it. He sighed. "Much better. Before I smelled like dirt and sweat." He switched arms. "Now I smell like dirt, sweat, and—" he held the stick out to inspect the label. "…sandalwood." _And Ziva,_ he noted to himself whimsically and almost a little longingly.

"Good morning," Ziva cheered as she entered the bullpen, spotting Tony. "What are you doing at my desk?"

"I couldn't find my deodorant, so I used yours." She shot him a very dark look. _Well __that's__ not a good look._

"You didn't."

"Yeah, we're partners. What's the big deal?" _Seriously, Ziva_, he thought, _it's not like you haven't used __mine__ before._

_Oh, very sanitary, Tony, _she thought, snatching it out of his hand. "A hair!" she said accusingly, shoving it in his face and then tossing it in the garbage with a _thump_.

"Come on!" he exclaimed, spreading his arms wide. _She's freakin' over a hair when we've shared bodily fluids?_ "You attach electrodes to men's testicles. You're getting squeamish about a hair?" _Plus, lest we forget, dear Ziva, that you tricked me into grunt work!_ "I'm not going to feel bad. Those ground-radar techs didn't show 'till dawn. McGee and I watched the sunrise together. It was very 'Brokeback Mountain.'"

_Oh, I know this one,_ Ziva thought, eagerly. _Uh, cowboys, right?—and…gay?_

"He had me at 'Howdy,'" McGee said, coming up next to Tony.

Ziva scowled. "How romantic. I'm sorry I missed it."

* * *

**Why would someone unbury a body?** Ziva typed, the words appearing on the plasma in the center of the bullpen.

"I can answer that," Tony said. "To send the message. Like, 'Hi, I'm dead.'" Ziva cocked an eyebrow at him, skeptically. "Never get engaged to two women at the same time?" he tried.

She scowled. "It would be easier to just rent a billboard." She turned back to her computer. "Second question."

**Where's the money?** Tony recited the question as he fingered Siri's engagement ring. "Ah!" he exclaimed, hoisting the ring. "Maybe in Siri's engagement ring. I've got to bring this down to Abby."

Ziva motioned to him. "I can save you an elevator trip." She grinned inwardly, mischief sparkling in her eyes as she blew on the ring—and incidentally, Tony's finger.

"Oh, that's nice."

_Predictable as always,_ she thought. "It's creating condensation. On a real diamond, that evaporates immediately."

"It's staying," he noted.

"Because it's a fake."

He couldn't help it; it was so much like old times that he just found himself giving in to his baser urges. "Give it one more try—just to make sure."

_Haha, gotcha, Tony!_ She pushed his hand away. "I'm not blowing on you again! Question three."

"Why buy a shovel?" he asked, confused.

_Damn, I skipped the 'r'._ "Ooops! No, sorry."

"Why _bury_ a shovel?" he asked, as per her correction. "Yeah, I have no answer to that idea," he said, coming around behind Ziva, his own playful side coming out to play. _Turn-about is fair play, Zee-vah._ "But here," he stood behind her and began to type, his body effectively surrounding her—both a pleasure and a pain for Ziva. "How about this one?"

"Who is Darkman?" she read.

"That is the question," he said, already monologue-ing. "Liam Neeson in the nineteen-ninety cult classic directed by Sam Raimi about a mentally unstable scientist who seeks revenge."

"You left out 'Who shot Rebecca?'" Gibbs said, stalking his way across the squad room.

"That was my next question," Ziva said, quickly, her fingers already in position on the keyboard.

"If Siri is innocent, she'd assume that Rebecca's guilty and she'd seek revenge," Tony said, explaining Siri's possible motive.

Ziva shook her head. "Shooting someone in broad daylight is just dumb."

"Well, you're not thinking like a jealous woman, Ziva," Gibbs told her. _Yeah, I'm trying quite hard __not__ to_, she noted, a little more bitter than she'd have preferred.

"Maybe not," McGee said. "When I went back to search Rebecca's place, I found this between couch pillows," he added, holding out an evidence box containing a gun.

"Rebecca shot herself," Gibbs surmised.

McGee nodded. "I think so. She lost a lot today. Her fiancé, her life savings."

"Her respect," Ziva added, knowing a lot about that. _There are few things worse than falling on one's pride…_

* * *

Ziva reopened the door and carefully stepped back into the warehouse, painfully aware of Tony right behind her. "Ziva! Hey! What he hell are you doing?" _She's absolutely friggin' crazy!_

_Being useful_, she thought. "I can disarm it."

_Oh, man…_ "Okay, well great. Let's go outside and talk about this." _And avoid getting blown to bits!_

She took off her jacket and started climbing on boxes, much to Tony's chagrin. If it detonates before EOD gets here, we'll lose evidence." _I can do this, Tony. Just let me!_

"Well what a bummer. It would be a real shame." She kept climbing—not listening. _Damnit, Ziva why do you always have to pull crap like this? We get it—you're tough. Now stop risking your life!_ "Ziva! Ziva!" He started climbing and following her out onto the beams. "Oh, this has to be the stupidest thing any human being has ever done."

She chuckled inwardly. "Then why are you following me, Tony?"

Tony had been angry with himself for weeks—ever since he'd let himself fall so far from where he _knew_ he should be that she'd had to go to Gibbs. He'd cursed himself and took what Gibbs had said about Ziva's situation to heart. He'd let Ziva stand all by herself against the inivisible hand framing her for multiple murders and he was paying the price for it. He wasn't about to let that happen again. _Because I learned the hard way: where you go, I go…partner. _"I don't freakin' know." They were getting to the bomb. "Oh, god. Ah…"

She settled down and handed Tony the cell phone. "Here, hold this."

_Oh, hold this? Just like that?_ "Do you have any idea what's going to happen if this cell phone rings?" No response, but—_wow, I can see down her shirt. Still as good as I remember_. "I can see down your shirt right now."

Ziva gave a little smile as she tinkered with the detonator box. _Not that you'd do anything about it now_… "I don't think your new girlfriend would like that."

_Oh, Ziva, why can you leave __nothing__ alone…Great! Time to lie some more._ "What are you talking about? I don't know what you're talking about."

_Mmhmm, sure, Tony._ "I'm talking about you, and that fact that you no longer stare at every woman when they pass you by."

_Except you_, he thought before he could help it. _Lead her away from the scent, DiNozzo_, one voice said—it sounded a lot like Jenny. _I can't believe we're having this conversation while she's diffusing a bomb!_ That latter one was more like his own. "Well, I'm looking down your shirt right now," he said in a tone that said—_oh yeah?_ It was a challenge—and Tony _really _hoped she answered it in kind.

Ziva almost smiled. "You see anything good?"

Tony _did_ smile. "Yeah, real good…" _It'd be even better if we weren't currently cohabitating with a bomb!_ "But I'm not entirely sure it's worth dying—" Ziva cut the wire, disarming the bomb. "…over."

They both breathed out heavily. "Not worth dying over…" She zipped up her shirt. _Ah, I miss you, Tony…even if I shouldn't._ "…I'll remember that."

_God, I miss her sometimes… _And before Tony could think of the possible ramifications of asking such a thing it was already out of his mouth. "What if I said it was?"

The look he gave her and the tone of his voice almost melted Ziva right there—but she knew the limits and she knew that they were just playing with fire. She believed they were good together, but it just wasn't going to work with them like this. "Now you'll never know," she said.

Tony sighed. _Yeah, that's the way things are shaping up lately… _

* * *

**Okay, so I have an assignment for you. **

**First: review like crazy! **

**Second: I need TIVA songs, songs considered Tony songs, songs considered Ziva songs, songs that Ziva would listen to (HaDag Nachash notwithstanding), songs that Tony would listen to (Sinatra notwithstanding), and finally, songs that Abby would listen to (anything of her traditional death metal, techno-fun, notwithstanding). Got that? **

**And lastly, I need a title for the next chapter. It includes scenes from "Sandblast" and "Smoked." **

**Review, Review, Review!!**


	7. Secret Perspectives

**Title:** Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

**Author:** ChelseaDaggerCinderella

**Summary:** Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

**Author's Note:**

I have no excuse! My life's been non-stop lately and I just didn't have time to do much of anything. I haven't written my mystery chapter yet (even though I do have it generally outlines), but I knew that I needed to post something because otherwise it's just absolutely cruel. So sorry! Here ya go! I hope you like it!

* * *

"What are we doing, Tony?" Jeanne asked suddenly, transitioning rather unseemly from film to…this discussion.

He played dumb for the moment. "Well, I'm boring you with German expressionism in film."

"We've been dating for over a month. Don't you find it a little curious that…we haven't taken it to the next level?"

_Oh, I __so__ didn't want to go there right now…I wonder how long I can get away with the 'I have no idea what you're referring to, Jeanne act?_ "You mean Italian, you know, realism? Japanese—"

"No—"

"…cinema?"

"…sex."

_So much for __that__ plan._ He chuckled nervously. "Yeah. Sex, right."

"Yeah, is that something you might be interested in?"

_I'm undercover, not dead._ "Yeah."

She laughed. "Yeah, I get that vibe fromm you. And yet we still haven't had it and you don't seem like the type who usually waits."

_Well, she's got you pegged, DiN…great, I don't even know what to call myself __in my own freakin' head__!_ "Yeah. Well, it could be because you remind me of my sister," he joked, trying to lighten the mood. He really wasn't in the position to give her an answer yet—this wasn't just personal; it was business, too.

"You said you were an only child."

"I am." He smirked.

"Could I have a serious answer, please?"

He sighed. "I don't want to rush things." _Yeah, rushing is bad when you're not sure just how far is __too__ far for the sake of a mission_.

"Date two is rushing things, Tony. Date eleven, that's a violation of the Geneva Convention."

Tony sighed again, realizing that he'd been putting off this inevitable complication for a while now. "'If you always do what you've always done, then you'll always get what you always got.' And while what I got had it's perks," _yeah, I'll say,_ "I'm looking for something different now.

She nodded. "Okay, Tony. But just so you know, whenever you're ready, so am I." She cuddled into him and they kissed. Tony only had one thought running through his mind—_Seriously?!_

* * *

Director Shepard looked up from her desk. "I take it this isn't a social call."

Tony nodded and closed the door. "I need some advice."

"And you came to me?" she asked in awe, coming around to the front of her desk.

"Well, it was either you or Gibbs, and his track record with women sucks." _Not to mention that it pertains to the woman you directed me to start dating and I didn't exactly want to proceed without double-checking my orders, Director._ "So, I'm finding, um, myself in a particularly odd situation with…someone…special," he said pointedly.

She nodded. "Odd?"

"Odd, yeah." _God, this is awkward._ "Odd. Because we've been going out for over a month and we haven't done something that I usually do uh, you know, a lot…a lot earlier than that." _That was torture…_

"And may I ask what it is that's holding you back from doing what you usually do?"

Tony was a little taken aback, but he went with it. "Yeah. Um…because of the particular importance of this person…" _Ya know, Director—her being a key asset in gaining access to La Grenouille_. "…I thought it would be a good idea to take things slowly, which is kind of a new concept for me." _Just ask Ziva—no, wait—that would be bad._ _Um…_ "But at a certain point things have to speed up." He gulped. "R-right?" _Ma'am?_

Jenny's tone changed to something that was silky smooth. He would've pegged it as seductive, but it was a little more…dangerous that that. "Are you attracted to her?" Tony just looked at her…and nodded. "So what's the problem?" Tony nodded again and his cell rang. _Saved by the bell…_

"DiNozzo….Well, let Gibbs know. He's there with McGee…Okay, I'll be right down."

He turned to leave the office when he heard Director Shepard's voice behind him. "Good luck." And Tony left to go meet Ziva.

* * *

"None of the local missing person reports match our John Doe's description, Tony. And there's no record of anyone going missing on base, civilian or military, during that period." Ziva looked up from her desk and saw Tony completely immersed in McGee's damn book. "Are you even _listening_ to me?"

He didn't even bother to look up. "I'm getting close to the end, Ziva. You know, McGee is really starting to nail your essence here." _Oh, God,_ Ziva thought, _please do __not__ read aloud, Tony_. Her luck didn't pan out however. "'Stakeouts: long endless hours fueled by cheap food and even cheaper coffee. But tonight, Mossad Officer Lisa…" _God, I hate that name_, she thought. _McGee jams it all together as if I were Israeli Assassin Barbie. Ugh._ "…didn't seem to mind because she was getting to spend it with Agent Tom…"

_Where'd she go?_ Tony thought, as he looked up to her desk, expecting to see Ziva and instead, finding nothing but an empty chair. Then he felt a chill go down his spine—not an unpleasant one; it was familiar. Months ago he'd relished the feeling—not that it was entirely unpleasant—just unexpected. _She's behind me..._ Tony smirked internally. "You're behind me again, aren't you?"

"Lucky guess," she said, jamming him into his desk from behind, making him jump. _What does he think?_ _That I'm incapable of separating myself from the job? Sure I have my moments, but I am far from ripping his clothes off every second of the day._ "You know, I think McGee's right…"_ This will be fun…_

"He was; was he?" Tony was suspicious. This wasn't like Ziva to be so—touchy—at the office. She wasn't even like this when they were actually together, so this display was—interesting, at best.

"It takes almost all of my willpower to resist the urges I have when I'm around you, Tony." _Ah ha!_ Tony knew what she was up to now. They'd played this game once or twice, too. _Familiar words—pillow talk._ Still, it was surprising for her to be initiating this particular game of theirs _now_, but he was a betting man; he'd play. "Maybe it's about time to just…give in. Yes?"

"And by 'give-in' you mean…?"

"Letting loose," she said, echoing the conversation that had initially led to…well—_that._

"Ah." _Uh-oh,_ Tony thought, unprepared for his immediate response. _It's a little warm in here…_

"Doing what comes naturally to me…"

_That__ was a new addition, _Tony noticed. "Yeah, I thought I was picking up that vibe from the first time we went undercover together."

"You were?" she asked all innocent and coquettish.

"Uh-huh." _She's still good at this…but I'm better. I __will__ resist._

"In fact," she leaned in close, her breath tickling the back of his neck. "I almost did it the first night in the hotel room."

_Well, __that__ was new information._ "Hmm. Really…"

_Time to turn the tables, my little hairy butt._ "But my father wouldn't approve."

_Hmmm…going off-book, Ziva David?_ "Because I'm not Jewish?" he asked.

_Gotcha!_ She laughed. "Because he gets very _angry_ when I kill my co-workers."

_Damnit! I lost!_ He laughed out of spite. "Like I believed you for even a second!"

She smiled wide and laughed again, slapping him on the cheek as she left. He was startled. "I'm sure you didn't."

"Are you two done playing grab-ass?" Gibbs barked.

"Oh, he started it," Ziva said, very naturally.

"I'm ending it," he declared, grabbing Tony's copy of _Deep Six_ from his grasp. "The next person who mentions this book will be deep-sixed by _me_."

Tony gulped, gathered his senses, and nodded, trying really hard not to look at Ziva. "I can completely live with that, boss." Ziva smiled and winked at him—a friendly wink, if one could accurately distinguish between the two—and Tony nodded subtly in return, thinking only about how duplicituous he'd become. _One second I'm joking with Ziva like nothing's changed, and then the next I'm ducking out to go be someone else, lying to my friends, and trying __really__ hard to be okay with being Tony DiNardo_.

* * *

Tony took a deep breath and knocked. _Jeanne is a great girl_, he reminded himself. _She's__ not the problem,_ he reminded himself. _It's all in your head; play the role!_

There was no answer. Tony gave a sad laugh. "I hope you had a better day than I did, Ms. Jeanne Benoit. I've been thinking a lot about you lately." He had no more excuses to keep his distance; Anthony DiNozzo had gotten his answer from his Director—and Tony DiNardo had to move this relationship along. _It's not like it's a hardship_, Tony thought. _It just doesn't feel…__right_._ I mean, she's a bright, beautiful, and incredible woman—and under normal circumstances I'd probably end up falling…hard. _

These weren't normal circumstances, however, and no matter how much he got to know her, no matter how much he got to like her, and no matter how attracted to her he was, Tony just couldn't shake this feeling in his gut that told him that it was wrong. He wasn't a mean person, so knowing what he was essentially doing to this woman had cast a cloud over him—and their relationship. He was straddling a dangerous line here, but he couldn't help it. He cared about her and when all this ended, he really didn't want to see her get hurt. "And I'm really, really trying to figure out a way to not screw this up…."

Tony turned around and started walking back down the hall when he heard her door open behind him. "Tony!"

He spun around. "Hey. I thought you were sleeping." Tony was a little taken aback at how much he suddenly was glad that she hadn't been. She was a little rumpled from sleep but she was beautiful, and her smile made him feel warm inside. It was a small comfort in the midst of a bad situation, but Jeanne's energy and her kindness—her purity—it always seemed to set him at ease for at least a small time (their time).

"I was," she said, opening the door for him to come in. And suddenly, Tony wasn't so worried anymore—as if crossing that threshold meant that the worries and conflicted emotions of Anthony DiNozzo got to stay _outside_ while Tony DiNardo, got to go be with his incredible girlfriend. It left him feeling good.

_What was I worried about_? Tony thought. And the door to apartment 202 closed shut behind him…

* * *

Tony was whistling as he sorted through the papers on his desk. He didn't _know_ that he was, but that was what usually happened when euphoria overtook the rest of one's emotions. Ziva eyed him suspiciously. _Well,_ she thought, _that's interesting…A little __too__ happy, though, at least for Tony._ "Are you on medication?" she asked, wondering if he'd been put on some sort of upper.

He didn't look at her. "Just had a good night last night."

_Hrm,_ she thought, _he's not rising to the bait…__very__ unlike Tony._ "Doing what?" she asked, with genuine curiosity and puzzlement.

Still, he didn't look up. "The usual."

_Ah, I think I understand, Tony,_ she thought a little evilly. _The girlfriend_. "The usual what?"

He smiled and bobbed his head, effectively freaking Ziva out. "Night." It was strange behavior for Tony—this was _too_ happy—and it only served to reinforce Ziva's suspicions.

_Ah ha! Got you!_ _Well, it's about time, Tony. For a while there I was starting to worry._ Tony had had, what Ziva had decided was his _serious-thoughts-face_ for quite a while now. It wasn't as if he still wasn't the same old, playful Tony, but his mood had had a tinge of darkness to it. That was something Ziva had recognized easily—she'd been there herself for quite some time now. Still, though, she couldn't resist toying with him. _Let's see…_ "You had sex, didn't you?"

She laughed, and Tony turned to look at her for the first time during the entire exchange, his eyes panicked. "What?" _How does she __know__ these things?!_

_Panic? Why is he panicking?_ _Okay, put him at ease, Ziva_. She smiled. "It's okay to admit it. I mean, we're all adults here."

"That's a subject I'd be willing to debate, Officer David," Fornell said suddenly, and out of nowhere. They both turned their attention to the swaggering FBI Agent. "Where's Gibbs?"

* * *

"What's your crazy ninja sense telling you?" Tony asked later on in the observation room.

They'd been observing the interrogation of the wife of their serial killer, watching as she'd slowly broken down and told them of how she'd had to deal with her husband for the sake of her children. She'd trusted him and then found out one day that the man she shared her life with was nothing more than a monster. It was a sensitive subject for Ziva. It hit her at both ends; she knew what it was like to discover that someone you loved and trusted was nothing more than a hideous manipulator and murderer. She'd been so quick to defend Ari that she never stopped to think about what her reaction might be if he truly was as awful as she found out he truly was in the end. She'd been blindsided—and then she'd had no time to process the turn in events before she'd had to become the same kind of monster.

"She's scared," Ziva said, simply.

"I mean, about whether she shanked Beef Jerky and dropped him down the wishing well."

Ziva rolled her eye inwardly, really not wanting to have this conversation but not being able to stop herself, she asked, rather scared of his answer, "What would you do if you woke up one day and you discovered you were married to a monster?" She couldn't really look at him, though.

Unbeknownst to Ziva, though, the question had a superior affect on Tony as well. He kept trying not to think about it, but the closer he got to Jeanne, the more he had to remind himself that this was going to be ugly in the end. Because if he was truly getting as attached as he feared he was, then one day he'd have to deal with a life where Jeanne would have to decide the very same thing. _What will she do when she finds out that she's fallen for a guy who was only playing her to get to her father? Who betrayed her?_ He shook it off and cracked a joke—his usual defense against these pesky emotions. "Happened to my father all the time. We usually just moved."

_Of course,_ Ziva thought bitterly, a little frustrated that she'd actually expected a real answer. "Ah, that explains it."

And then for some reason, she heard herself trying to initiate the same conversation again. "In her position, I can't say I wouldn't have done the same thing, Tony." _That's because I've already had to do it. But what would you say to that, Tony? If you knew…?_

Tony had a fleeting vision of Jeanne trying to kill him—or worse. _How will she react? Will it be violent? But she's such a pure soul,_ he internally argued. _Not after you get through with her,_ his inner devil's advocate reminded. _And she's quite an expert with a scalpel, too_. He shuddered. "McGee was right…about taking the law into your own hands. She's lucky she wasn't his last victim."

Ziva thought about that for a second and then she heard Ari's voice in her head, _"Eager to strike at the heart of Mossad—and Israel."_ _Would he have killed me, too, eventually?_ She'd never thought about that before and the feelings that were churning up in her as a result were enough to make her want to go home and hide under her covers—with her gun.

* * *

**So, with all the re-writing going on, I'd like your honest reviews on the parts of it you like (what you'd like to see more of) and the aspects you don't like (stuff I should write differently). I'm finding as I go on, that I'm using the episodes and dialogue as a starting point for non-re-write chapters—they're mainly original but they're based in some of the episodes—so, I'd like to know what you guys appreciate versus stuff you'd like me to stay away from. Thanks! Now go and review!**


	8. Blowback: Part 1

**Title:** Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

**Author:** ChelseaDaggerCinderella

**Summary:** Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

**Author's Note:**

Oh, my friends, I'm so sorry you had to wait all this time. My computer went crazy—I got hit by a virus that got by my anti-virus software and when I tried to fix it my computer completely died. This all took a week and then I had to put humpty-dumpty together again—hence the mondo-delay, for which I am infinitely sorry about.

Okay, so here's chapter 8, which is the first of a five-part re-write of "Blowback." You'll notice that I've started to _really_ change things here because, ladies & germs, we have entered into our transition into stage three. Yay! It's about to get _really_ good, so bare with me. I just moved back into the dorms and I'm starting my first semester in three hours, so I apologize if my updates are sluggish, but I promise you—I _will_ update and I _will_ finish this story.

On with the show!

* * *

Ziva felt a little exposed. She'd made a fool of herself this morning because she was worried about Tony. She kept telling herself that she wasn't _actually_ looking like a fool because for all of Gibbs's ability to know what others didn't want him to, he did _not_ know about her and Tony's less than platonic relationship while he was "retired." _You do not look like a fool, Ziva! You are simply concerned with your partner's well-being_. And it was true. There were far too many examples of how things with Tony were not one-hundred percent for her to just ignore them. She had a duty to her partner and to her team to make sure that she followed her gut—even if she felt a fool doing it. _You wouldn't be feeling like a fool if you'd adhered to protocol,_ she chastised herself. And that was true, but everything in her told her that something was wrong with Tony and _that_ was unacceptable no matter how foolish she looked.

"Uh, Gibbs," she started, turning to him in the car outside Asad's and Youssef's house. "About this morning."

He sighed. "Oh, come on. Are you starting this again?"

_Does he really not see it? Am I truly imagining it? Is my judgment __that__ flawed?_ "It's my Mossad training. They drummed it into us. Push, push, push, push, push, push, push; never give up until you get to the truth…"

He turned to her, "…or get your ass kicked."

_Yes, that, too_. "Or get your ass kicked," she nodded and paused. "I thought you sent Tony back because of his um…illness."

"His illness?" Gibbs asked, looking at her strangely, silently thinking back to their conversation about _Y-Pestis_ relapses.

_Here goes…_ "He has two cell phones. Makes furtive calls to the hospital. Goes missing for hours. Always lies about where he's been. I mean," she said, slightly exasperated, but confident that she was hauling out the big guns with this one, "…he doesn't even talk about women anymore." She sighed. "The only logical explanation is that he's receiving outpatient treatment for a _serious_ medical problem."

_Or not,_ Gibbs thought, thinking back to the _errands_ Jenny had been sending him on. _Not time to voice those suspicions yet, though._ He looked at Ziva. "That's not the only explanation." _Conversation over._

It was a few days later that Tony, Ziva, and McGee all found themselves at their desks with nothing to do. No cases, no calls; all reports had been written, typed, checked, and filed, and the entire squad room was eerily…calm.

"This is a bad sign," McGee said gravely.

"What is?" Ziva asked, looking up from her work cleaning her gun.

"This," he said, his arms flying out, drawing attention to the still squad room. "It's the calm before the storm, Ziva."

"What storm, McGee?—it is a beautiful day," she said, pointing to the window where the sun shone brightly in the cool, winter sky.

"He speaks figuratively, Ziva," Tony said, dropping his legs from where they were crossed on top of his desk. "And for what it's worth, I'm rather inclined to agree with Probie on this one." Ziva cocked an eyebrow and gave him a look that said, _so what?_ He made his way over to her desk and leaned down, bracing his hands on the desk. "This rather tepid state of affairs is an omen—a bad omen—of things to come…and haunt us."

"What he said," McGee seconded, from across the room, now coming closer and joining them around Ziva's desk.

"Boys," she laughed, as she moved the slide on her Sig back with a _click_. She leaned in towards them as if she were going to tell them a secret and whispered. "Don't worry—I shall protect you." They both straightened up, each with an equally put-off look on their face—their dignity having taken a hit from letting themselves 'walk into it'.

She laughed again as McGee made his way back to his desk, his temperament not all that unlike a sullen child. Tony, on the other hand, nailed Ziva with his eyes. "Mark my words, Ziva David—there is evil afoot."

Ziva gave him a dry look. "There is _always_ evil, Tony."

"Yeah, but this is different," he said, straightening, and traipsing around the bullpen. "It's in the air. You can feel it, can't you, McGee?"

McGee nodded. "It's there—laying in wait."

"Yes, Probie! Yes, that's it—it's laying in wait."

"And it's big, too," McGee added. "Yup, not your usual brand of bad—this is…"

"It is _what_, McGee?" Ziva asked after a few seconds of silence.

"It's, uh, well, it's—"

"Biblical," Tony finished.

"Yes!" McGee cheered, his fisted hand pumped in the air in victory. "_Biblical_. Yes, Tony, very good." Tony looked at him a moment with one of those '_what did you say?_' looks. McGee gulped. "I mean, well, what I meant was, well, um, you see—"

"Ziva!" Gibbs shouted, walking briskly into the bullpen and saving McGee from any further torment.

"Gibbs?" she asked, standing up and coming towards his desk.

"Director wants to see you in MTAC. There's a feed coming in from Tel Aviv, Priority 1, for you."

Ziva nodded and made her way upstairs towards MTAC.

When she was safely away from earshot, Tony made his way over to Gibbs's desk. _Nonchalant, DiNozzo—no need to rile things up. Nice and subtle._ "Priority 1, boss?" he asked, curious.

Gibbs kept his eyes on the computer in front of him. "Live feed from the Deputy Director's office," he said plainly.

_Her father, probably. A call from daddy?—that can't be good_. Tony hesitated for a moment, and then asked, "DeputyDirector _David's_ office, boss?"

"Yeah, DiNozzo," he said with a worn-out tone. "Anything else you'd like to know about?" he added, rising from his chair.

"Well there are a _few_ mysteries I've always wondered about," he began with a sarcastically cocky tone. Gibbs head-slapped him and Tony shook himself. "Right, boss; shutting up."

* * *

Ziva put her face up to the optical scanner outside of MTAC and waited patiently as it scanned her eyes. The system made a noise signaling her approval for entry and she gripped the handle with a vice-like hold as she tried to convince herself that she was _not_ concerned about a sudden tele-conference with her father. _The Director, _she chastised herself. _Right now he is merely the Deputy Director of my agency…well, __one__ of my agencies…_

When she entered the command center, she saw the Director sitting in her usual chair, a folder open in her lap. She sat down next to Jenny, sliding into the seat with ease. She inclined her head in greeting. "Director."

Jenny silently passed the folder over to Ziva with only a sly look in her direction. The folder was marked "Eyes Only," so Ziva knew right away that the Director was actively _not_ showing her this file that Ziva also knew right away she had absolutely _no _record of. In other words, Jenny wasn't supposed to be doing what she was doing right now, and Ziva wasn't supposed to be looking at what she was reading right now. S_o just another day at the office_, Ziva thought with a shake of her head.

The file was a Mossad dossier on man named Goliath. There was a lot of information there but it was not very well organized. _Compiled rather haphazardly_, Ziva noted. Ziva tried to make as much sense of it as she could, but as she flipped the pages, she realized there was all kinds of information in here on an arms-dealer of Israeli descent code-named _Goliath_. Tony's _biblical _omen popped into her head of its own accord. _Damn, Tony and his hunches!_

There were a number of notes on communiqués Mossad had intercepted between Goliath and Iranian Intelligence regarding something referred to only as _The Villa_, but, Ziva noted, there were notations that indicated that there was more than met the eye. She closed the file and handed it back to Jenny wordlessly, who then tucked it back into her pile of paperwork.

"Danielle," Jenny said, "do we have Tel-Aviv yet?"

"Yes, ma'am," Danielle, said. "Should I begin the feed, Director?"

"Yes."

Ziva stood as her father appeared before her from his desk in his office halfway around the world.

"Good day, Director," she greeted her father in Hebrew, with a nod.

"Daughter," he responded in kind—and once again, in Hebrew—"it has been too long." His tone made Ziva want to wretch; either that, or scream. _And whose fault is that, Fathe_r?

"Deputy Director David," Jenny began with authority, "It's good to see you again, but I'm afraid we'll have to dispense with pleasantries for the moment. NCIS received the intel you provided—it is greatly appreciated."

Deputy Director David nodded and began again, in English. "Mossad has been monitoring three known Iranian Intelligence operatives for a little less than a month. We had been hoping to uncover information regarding an operation that went awry several months ago when we discovered that this man," a picture of Goliath appeared on screen. "An arms-dealer and traitor to Israel known only as _Goliath_ began gathering information about the sale of a Villa in Santorini. My analysts thought nothing of it until a man named Trent Kort began to engage in similar conversations with not only Iranian Intelligence, but your Central Intelligence Agency."

"Mossad is tracking CIA communications?" the Director asked, all business and very put-off at the thought of the possible ramifications. Ziva stiffened, feeling the tension knot between her shoulder-blades as she realized that her loyalties were split on the matter.

"To be fair, Director Shepard, Mossad was tracking Kort's communications with the Iranians _first_, so, it was quite surprising when he began dialing the United States as though they were old friends." Director Shepard motioned for him to continue. "It was only _after_ Kort appeared in our investigation that we began to track _his_ communications. We were far from intercepting Agency communiqués, Director. We were monitoring from _his_ end—not yours."

Jenny bristled and swallowed a response. "Continue."

"Mossad believes that both Goliath and Kort are planning on purchasing a rather sensitive system of the US Military's—and Goliath is in your nation's capitol right now."

"What system, Director?" Ziva asked from her stiff position at Jenny's side.

Her father leaned in close. _For dramatic effect,_ Ziva thought wryly. He looked straight into the camera—into the heart of MTAC, and NCIS—and said, as thought it were nothing in the world, "…ARES."

* * *

Tony sat down at McGee's desk and started bringing up the files connected to the match. "It looks like McGee's got a name match off of Harrow's e-mails. Trent Kort. He's on the FBI arms-dealer watch-list."

"How old?" Gibbs asked.

He hit some keys, bringing up more information. "Ah, five days." _Uh, oh_. "Uh, bio's thin." It popped up on the screen and Tony started reading. "Trent Thomas Kort, thirty-seven years old. British National. Believed to have recently joined…" but Tony froze as the picture of Kort appeared on-screen. _Oh crap! _ He flashed back to the air-strip. '_Smile's for me, dear boy…" This isn't good…well, it is, because yay for the mission, but this is __not__ going to be a pretty picture for me. Oh god—Jeanne…Gibbs...Gibbs…Gibbs?_

"Hey, do you know this guy?"

_GIBBS!_ "No," Tony lied, "I've never seen him before." _Make it about the horrible shirt, DiNozzo…_ "Those Hawaiian shirts…" he shook his head and returned his eyes to the screen, reading diligently so it looked like he really did know nothing—not that he thought Gibbs bought it for a second…but hey, never blow your own cover, right? "…believed to have recently joined La Grenouille, an international arms dealer, fronting corporations in Paris, Nairobi…Cape Town."

* * *

Tony attempted to steer the Director and he away from the awkwardness of the moment and gestured to her computer. "May I?" He pulled up Harrow's file and the NCIS case file they'd just opened. "Charles Harrow. Retired puzzle maker."

"For who?"

"Us; _literally_ us—he designed ARES. It's the Navy's cruise—"

"…Missile targeting system." She paused, her poker-face in place. _Sorry, Tony_, she thought. "He come out of retirement?"

"In a way; he's offering ARES in a one-off to the highest bidder."

Tony could _hear_ the sound effects in his head as the Director put it together. _She's a very smart woman_…

_Why didn't I put that together __myself_, she screamed in her head. _Of course!_ "La Grenouille?"

Tony nodded. "He's one of the bidders."

"How did we come by this?"

"Mossad passed intel onto Ziva about an international arms dealer, code name: Goliath…"

_This part I know, DiNozzo!_ _Get to Grenouille!_ "I've heard of him; he's Israeli."

"…And Ziva didn't take too kindly to that." _I'll say—I think I may have actually seen smoke come out of her ears_. "He's rumored to be bidding on a stolen Navy weapons system. We snatched him this morning. Got him downstairs on a visa violation. His computer is in Abby's lab." Tony moved to the computer again and started punching keys. "And we were running Harrow's cell calls and e-mails for known arms dealers when…" the picture appeared on the Director's plasma, capturing her full attention. "…this guy popped off an FBI watch-list. Name is Trent Kort."

Jenny stood up, everything coming together a little better now. "You took that picture eight weeks ago. Why are we just getting a name now?" _Deputy Director David seems to have left out a few things…_

"I have no idea. I ran that photo against all agency watch lists, including the FBI, and I got nothing." _Really nothing, like not even a whisper of a spec of dust. It was almost __too__ clean—organized._

"It doesn't matter. This is good."

"And it's bad. I had to lie to Gibbs."_ Yes, we're pretty much set up to nab your guy, Director, but I lied to Gibbs—directly—after lying to the entire team for months. And then—there's Jeanne. We nab Grenouille and what happens there? I ditch her? Blow my cover and let her kick my ass? I end it? And then I have to explain to…no! This assignment is no longer making me eager, Jenny. Let's just get it done and I'll worry about this later…after Gibbs kills me_.

One would have thought that she'd never ever worked with Gibbs judging by her tone—as if she had no idea what it meant exactly for him to have lied to Gibbs. "You were on an undercover mission."

"He's my boss."

"And I'm _his_ boss." She was getting defensive…and territorial. "You leave him to me. Your ass is covered."

"I'm not worried about my ass, Jenny!" he bellowed. _ I respect the man, and he trusts me and you've had me betraying them all…and myself…and Jeanne…_

* * *

**So show me some love! Did you like it? Hate it? Want more? Go and review!**


	9. Blowback: Part 2

**Title:** Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

**Author:** ChelseaDaggerCinderella

**Summary:** Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

**Author's Note:**

Okay, so two things: one, I feel horrible that I waited so long and especially that I can't even give you a good excuse—I'm just swamped; and two, I wanted to get this out because I hadn't updated in a while, but also because I wanted to take this chance to reassure you all that I _WILL_ be finishing this fic—I'm not gonna leave you all hanging—it's just going to be a little slower than you'd all like—hell, than even _I'd_ like—but unfortunately, it can't really be helped. But once again, I'm not going anywhere so I hope you all will stay with me as well. Just keep reminding me that you're all out there and I promise to try harder to stay on top of things.

* * *

Ziva and Tony were in the car on the way to Harrow's house to try and find the stolen copy of ARES that he'd planned on selling. Now that he was dead, the Director wanted to make sure that it couldn't fall into anyone else's hands….or so she had led everyone to believe.

Ziva looked over to the computer sitting in Tony's lap, a large video-game-like logo popping up and filling the screen. "_That's _ARES?" _It looks like a toy…_

Tony nodded slightly. "According to McGeek—" _oh, holly, hell, she drives like a mad-woman—why did I let her drive, again?_ "…Ziva, watch the road!" _Oh, please, let me live through this car ride, lord_, he prayed as the sound of horns honking filled his ears.

_I am perfectly capable of operating this vehicle, you baby._ "I have great peripheral vision."

_Oh, come on!_ "My sphincter doesn't," he argued as he continued pulling up files from his directory.

Ziva laughed. "Well, at least we won't have trouble finding it."

Tony looked up, a little put-off. _She's just joshing you, DiNozzo_… "Really?"

_Oh, the ego! _"Tony, it's the size of an ATM."

He shook it off and returned to the task at hand, calling up the photos of the pirated portion of ARES that he and Ziva were sent to recover. "Well, this is the controller console and this…" _Oh, damn! Jeanne—the bowling pictures!_ _Maybe she didn't see…_

But she did. _Aha!_ Ziva thought. "Your mystery woman!" she exclaimed with glee, glancing over to look at the computer instead of the road. _I knew it! He couldn't hide her forever…_

"Watch the road!"

She grinned, having hit a nerve. "Oh, yes it is, isn't it?" _Yes! Winner and still champion!_

_Deny everything until you absolutely must divulge it._ "No, this is no one!" She shot him a look. _Or blame it on someone else…_ "It's McGee's idea of a prank." She snorted. _And when all else fails…change the subject_. "This is the pirated part of ARES we have to find."

_It's just a tiny little chip!_ "Twenty million for that?"

"Well, size doesn't mat—" _oh, no. Don't go there, DiNozzo, you'll be limping back to the office_. "…Forget I even stupidly started to say that."

Ziva grinned devilishly. _The boy is learning…_

They arrived at Harrow's house and started up the walk. _Perhaps a bargain_, Ziva thought. "Will you tell me her name if I find the pirate's copy of ARES?"

_No._ "Pirated copy," he corrected.

_Did I not just say that?_ "That's what I said."

_Oi_. "No, you said 'pirate's copy.' A pirate is a person like Captain Jack Sparrow. A pirated copy—"

_Wait, who is that?_ "Who is Jack Sparrow?"

_Oh my God._ "Johnny Depp."

Ziva purred in her thoughts and her voice deepened. "He's a pirate?"

_My, God, Ziva!_ "No, he's an actor."

"Oh," she said, a bit disappointed.

_How did we get to pirates and Johnny Depp?_ He threw his arms out helplessly. "How did we get here?"

_Duh!_ "I drove," she said, completely missing the point.

Tony shook his head helplessly as Ziva picked the lock to Harrow's home. She opened the door and stepped in before him. Ziva took in the sight of all the computers and equipment and circuitry and knew this was _not_ going to be an easy find. "This is going to be like looking for a needle in a _needle_ stack."

Tony sighed, defeated, as well but for more reasons than just the futility of the task ahead of them. "Needle in a haystack."

"I like my description better." _It suits the situation perfectly…_

* * *

Tony and Ziva were on the roof of a satellite storage building across the airstrip awaiting instructions. Tony had a telescopic tripod with a high power lens and Ziva had a M110 SASS, with a scope, trained on Trent Kort, whoever Ducky directly engaged, and presumably, La Grenouille himself.

Tony was having trouble keeping his mind on the mission at hand. Presumably, they were going to apprehend La Grenouille tonight and with him in custody, the Director satisfied, and ARES safely back in the hands of the good guys, Tony DiNardo had no further reason to exist, thus annulling any reason to maintain his romantic entanglement with Jeanne Benoit. _I really care about her…I certainly don't want to see her hurt, but I knew going into this that come the curtain call, people were going to be unhappy_. Tony just didn't expect to have to count himself in that number. They'd only been going out for about three months—but he'd grown attached. _Stupid idiot! Great work, man!_

He moved the telescope towards the rear of the plane and refocused the lens. "Gulf stream five; registration two-one-eight-echo."

McGee's voice filtered in from the earwig stuck in his ear. "Copy you, Archangel."

_Different plane…means big bucks. Arms trade really does pay…_ he thought with distain. "They flew into Washington in a different G-Five when I tagged the luggage," he told Ziva, kind of glad to be able to talk about his work openly again—well, _almost_.

Ziva, for her part, was trying to keep the crosshairs steady on Kort's rather bulbous head. It wasn't exactly necessary to maintain _such_ precision, but Ziva's training instilled certain things in her—like keeping a clear shot to the center of the forehead at all times. Today was no different. _What's he talking about? _"Tagged their luggage?" _Oh…_ "Oh, that's when Jenny had you…undercovers."

"_Undercover_. Not undercovers." _Sheesh._

Ziva and Tony were, together, linked directly to the mobile command unit via two-way communication, and to Ducky via a one-way communiqué (they could hear Ducky, but Ducky couldn't hear them). McGee relayed the information on the G-Five from the flight plan database, "Two-one-eight Echo is a Sorbonne Air Charter out of Orly Sud. It's been refueled and flight filed. TOD – twenty-four hundred."

Gibbs checked his watch. _11:25pm. _"Thirty-five minutes," he barked into the mic, broadcasting their operational time-limit to the team. Then he nodded at Jenny and announced, "This is your op, Director."

Jenny nodded and gulped apprehensively. "Bring Ducky online," she told McGee softly.

McGee tapped a few keys and a fuzzy picture came up, the feed broadcasting from Ducky's cam. "Sound check, Ducky."

Ducky moaned. "Now I know why they call these wretched things earwigs."

Tony smiled at Ducky's comment as Shepard continued. "Make the exchange, Doctor, and get out; I don't want you caught in the middle of a firefight."

Ducky made his way through the gate, seemingly having passed inspection. He made it out of the car and up to the steps of the plane where Kort stood waiting for him. But when he got there, Kort scrunched up his face. "Charles Harrow?"

The others knew it was a bad sign, but Ducky was nonplussed, playing right into it. "You say that as if you're surprised to see me."

McGee on the other hand, wasn't so unfazed. "Uh-oh."

_Not good,_ Tony thought, as Jenny's voice crackled into his ear. "Archangel, Ducky might have been compromised."

"Archangel has him covered." Ziva was in mission-mode. Nothing got to her wherever she was—she was focused—and she would've gladly taken off Kort's head without a moment's hesitation.

"You have ARES?" Kort asked.

"You have the twenty million?"

Gibbs's voice was prideful as he commented on Ducky's abilities. "He's a natural."

Jenny's voice had a discernable trepidation to it. "Maybe, but he's making me nervous."

Ducky handed over the laptop to a woman named Regina and with McGee's help he answered all of her queries flawlessly. Kort's behavior and body language was sending warning signals to the team stationed in their scattered positions surrounding the scene.

Ziva was ready to react at a moment's notice, Gibbs was watching for any sign of danger, should someone decide to go off-script, and Ducky continued to play the part of Charles Harrow with an ease ill-fitting that of the tension-filled air surrounding the entire operation. "Aren't you going to invite me in out of the cold, Monsieur Grenouille?"

"I would," Kort began, "but I'm not him." Then he waived his cell phone, obviously a pre-arranged signal, and Grenouille appeared from the darkness, apologizing for his theatrics. But something wasn't right—Gibbs could feel it and as the two chatted in French, Gibbs turned to McGee. "Can you get a lock on that cell phone, McGee?"

"Uh, what cell phone, boss?"

"The one that baldy's panicking into, McGee!"

"Oh, uh, yeah…" McGee started typing away, trying to locate the information requested.

"Jethro?" the Director questioned.

He gave her a dark look and shook his head, pacing the span of the surveillance truck. "Bad feeling, Jen," he said by way of explanation.

"Uh, boss, signal's bouncing off a cell tower a mile from here and redirecting back to the US."

"_Where_, McGee?!"

"Still loading…"

Ducky was doing okay, with the exception of screwing up his name already, but so far, so good. "This will be a beautiful way to consummate the transfer of the _villa_," Grenouille said, smugly. _Yes,_ Ducky thought, _if by __villa__ you mean a treasonous copy of the Navy's Missile Defense System, Renée_.

"Le Froggie is more careful than Gotti," Gibbs noted darkly.

Shepard kept her eyes focused on Grenouille. "That's why he's never been caught."

Grenouille started talking about his children and Tony cringed and forcibly chased thoughts of Jeanne and that entire situation from his head. _Not now, DiNozzo…_

"McGee!" Gibbs barked.

The computer made all sorts of noise. "Got it! Tower's located in Virginia, running the number now."

"_Where_ in Virginia, McGee?" Shepard asked, with a sinking feeling.

"Uh," McGee kept typing, each sequence bringing the tower-map locator closer to the goal. He took a breath. "…Langley," he said, as the computer beeped again. "Boss," he said, gravely, as his computer flashed a security warning. "I can't access the information—firewall popped up and rerouted my search."

"Well get it back!"

"I'm trying, boss," he said as he typed furiously. "It keeps redirecting the signal and jumping servers—it's a smart piece of technology, boss."

Gibbs leaned down over his shoulder, his tone dangerous, "Then be smarter, McGee."

McGee gulped and started doing something highly illegal—again. "Right, right."

Tony's voice crackled through the system, "They're starting engines."

"McGee," Gibbs warned.

"Almost there," he said, executing sequence after sequence in quick succession. The computer bleeped again. "Boss, I can't get a fix on the phone but I can tell you that this program is rerouting through CIA servers."

There was dead silence—for a moment. And then Gibbs went nuts, "McGee, _find_ out if the face recognition database kicked out a match for Ducky and do it yesterday."

"Already on it, boss."

Shepard spoke into her mic, "Archangel, prepare for possible dual extraction scenario."

Ziva's voice didn't waive. "Understood, Director."

"Boss, Ducky's picture was entered three minutes ago and redirected through CIA servers…they know."

'Then why haven't they done anything?" Jenny wondered aloud.

"Don't really wanna find out now, Jen," Gibbs said harshly.

"Archangel," Jenny said, "Time to put on a show."

_Put on a show?_ Tony thought. He looked to Ziva to catch her reaction, but he'd be damned if she didn't even blink. "Understood, Director," she said seamlessly.

Ziva adjusted her aim and fired a shot, just missing Kort, but hitting the plane and getting it to ricochet back over the steps of the plane. Grenouille's people scuffled to get him and themselves back on the plane, seemingly forgetting about Ducky in the may lay. _Good_, Ziva thought.

"Bravo team," Jenny shouted, "…move in! Extraction Beta two!"

Ziva fired again, cutting off Kort's exit onto the tarmac and preventing Grenouille from boarding. She kept firing similar shots, blocking off paths and essentially corralling the animals. She saw Kort curse and fire off a few rounds of his own, but not knowing where the sniper was located made it impossible for him to be successful in his endeavors. And before he could even attempt to move onto a backup plan the extraction team had moved in, a van screeching to a halt next to Grenouille and shoving him in, much like Ziva and Tony had done earlier that very long day with Goliath. Another car pulled alongside a very startled and flustered Ducky and forcibly abducted him as well.

"Archangel, move out!" came the Director's brusque orders.

Ziva dropped her scope and collapsed the bipod, sliding the whole thing under her shoulder with a practiced ease that Tony could only stare in awe at. "Move, Tony," she said, scooping up the shells without missing one and sliding them in her jacket pocket. They crawled their way to the end of the satellite storage building and Tony shimmied down the back first, taking the equipment from Ziva before she jumped down herself.

He turned to her in awe. "Wanna tell me what just went down there?" he asked, a little put-off by the fact that she'd seemed to know scenarios he hadn't—and he'd been working this damn case.

"Not now," she said simply, as they made their way into the dark to the rendezvous point.

* * *

**I have every intention of trying to write the mysterious chapter that continually eludes my muse this weekend, so inspire me and show me some love! Go and review!**


	10. Blowback: Part 3

**Title:** Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

**Author:** ChelseaDaggerCinderella

**Summary:** Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

**Author's Note:**

I know this was a long while between updates but to make up for it I've done some tinkering on youtube. At the end of this chapter you'll find two links: one is to a _Previously on NCIS_, which is accurate up until the start of this fic—I had originally made it for my family (because they don't watch NCIS), but I figured that I'd put it out there for you all as well; and the second is my interpretation of Ziva's Nightmare back in chapter three, which may or may not make a repeat appearance later on. Check them out and let me know.

* * *

The teams separated. Bravo team along with Gibbs and McGee were _escorting_ La Grenouille back to D.C. in a small air-craft outfitted for prisoner transport while the Director, Ziva, Tony, and their _prisoner_, Charles Harrow, flew back separately so as to maintain Ducky's cover.

"Really, Director," a very frazzled Ducky began, "Was that really necessary? I feel as if I've been left tied to a Polo field."

"We have to maintain your cover, Ducky. We couldn't have anyone on that plane, or especially La Grenouille thinking that you're anyone other than a treasonous ex-computer programmer," the Director explained.

"At least, not yet," Ziva added.

Tony laughed a little bitterly. "Well, now that that's settled, would someone like to fill me in on the portion of this program I seem to be missing?" Silence. He turned to Jenny. "Director?"

Jenny looked at Ziva and then at Tony, and finally, she send a pointed look Ducky's way. "Not here, Agent DiNozzo."

Tony sighed, but nodded.

* * *

Grenouille was kept unconscious for the length of the transport, and then dumped in an interrogation room, groggy, and unsure as to his whereabouts—a rather effective technique.

Gibbs and McGee were watching him from observation, Gibbs looking for signs of weaknesses or flaws that he could exploit during interrogation—provided that the Director ever let him _begin_ the interrogation. The moment they'd gotten back, she'd ordered Grenouille to be put in interrogation and observed until she gave further orders—then she'd disappeared into MTAC with Tony and Ziva; something that Gibbs was not taking kindly to.

"What do you think is going on up there, boss?" McGee asked.

Gibbs just turned his head to stare at McGee with a withering look.

* * *

Meanwhile, Tony had a really bad feeling. The three of them were playing with fire, and the flames had a name—Gibbs. Tony had worked with him long enough to know that the three of them were setting themselves up to push Gibbs over the edge with their actions—and the cliff-side was quickly approaching.

MTAC was a fury of activity as the Director stalked in; calling for the tele-conference she had requested en-route from Quebec. "The feed from Tel-Aviv is coming in now, Director," Danielle said, looking nervously at Jenny as she marched to the center of the room with fire in her eyes.

Ziva was right behind her and they seemed to be wearing matching looks of fury as they took their powerful stances before the screen that would soon add Ziva's father into the mix. Tony had never met the man—never heard anything about him really, other than the information that had come to them freely through the course of their interactions with Mossad and more specifically, Ari.

As far as Tony was concerned, he knew three things about Deputy Director David: one, he was the Deputy Director of Mossad; two, he had three children (Ari, Ziva, and Tali—the sister who had, as Ziva had told him, died at 16, a victim of a Hamas suicide bomber); and three, he was currently the target of the wrath of two of the most pissed off females Anthony DiNozzo had ever had the…pleasure…of coming into contact with.

_Heaven help him_, Tony thought, sarcastically, as the man of the hour appeared before them on the huge MTAC plasma. _eHeavenHjk_

"Two calls in twenty-four hours, daughter; I am flattered," he began smugly. Ziva ground her teeth together hard so as to not say something that could worsen the situation. She was positive that her father had information that NCIS needed badly—and Ziva was even more sure that he had withheld it on purpose; she just didn't know what for.

"I'm afraid you'll have to save the flattery for another time, Director," Jenny began, that hard edged tone leaving absolutely no room for uncertainty as to her current demeanor.

Tony straightened even further as he stood firmly behind Ziva and the Director, his arms folded professionally in front of him. Ziva's body language, however, was less professional, and more, well—angry daughter. She faced her father head-on, with icy words. "You deliberately withheld information _vital_ to an on-going NCIS investigation, _Director_," she snarled.

Director David was eerily calm as he sat at his desk and accepted the accusation. "This supposedly _vital_ information being?" he asked.

"Trent Kort's _communication_ with the CIA is not exactly as _coincidental_ as you led us to believe."

"You mean about Kort being CIA himself?" he asked, enjoying the look on Director Shepard's face as she processed this unknown fact. He chuckled. "Or perhaps you had yet to discover that fact…"

"You knew Kort was CIA and yet you said nothing?" Ziva demanded.

"I hardly said _nothing_, daughter."

Ziva advanced on the screen, "You led us to believe that Kort had random interactions with the CIA and that they were furthermore isolated to the purchasing of ARES! NCIS needs any and all information that Mossad possesses regarding Trent Kort, his involvement with the CIA, _and_ with the arms dealer known as La Grenouille."

"I was protecting a Mossad asset, Ziva. Surely you can understand that." He turned his attention to Director Shepard, "As I'm sure you can also understand, Director."

Ziva turned her back to the screen as she made her way back towards the Director and Tony, all-the-while cursing in Hebrew under her breath.

Jenny's tone was lethal as she took up where Ziva left off, "What I understand, _Director_," she spat with venom, "is that your misinformation jeopardized my operation, endangered my team—your daughter included—and impeded a United States Federal Investigation."

"Contrary to what you would like to believe, NCIS is _not_ as intimidating as it makes itself out to be."

The muscles in Tony's neck tightened as he did his best to stay back and let the situation progress through _professional_ channels—i.e. the Director and the Mossad Liaison—but the Director's last statement was like throwing a '_yo mamma'_ across the ocean. "Director David," Tony began, surprising himself and the two women in front of him, "I'm sure we can all appreciate your need to protect this asset of yours, just as I'm _equally_ sure that Mossad can appreciate _our_ need to protect our investigation."

"Ah," the Director said, a new emotion plaguing his voice—distain? "You must be Anthony DiNozzo," he said, rather smugly. Ziva's stomach lurched and Tony tried not to look as surprised as was. _Well, that's interesting_, he thought.

"Director David," Jenny began, sensing danger and wanting desperately to return to the topic at hand. "If you could help me to understand how sharing this _necessary_ intel could _possibly_ endanger your asset then I can assure you that NCIS will do everything within its power to prevent any possible repercussions."

The Director guffawed. "I hardly see the feasibility of that plan of action, Madame Director. I suppose it is my own fault for being so…obtuse in my earlier statement. It is not _possible_ harm to my asset that I seek to prevent but rather the _continued_ harm."

Jenny lifted her head, "I'm afraid you've lost me, Director. Perhaps you could enlighten us as to the harm NCIS has seemingly _already_ inflicted on this _asset_ of yours?"

"I speak, of course, of my daughter," he said plainly, not realizing the depth of shock to which he had brought upon the inhabitants of the room. "As it stands now Trent Kort is a traitorous double-agent now on the run from your government, playing both sides in order to further his own benefits."

"This would be new information, Director," Tony began, but was silenced by an irate Ziva.

Jenny and Ziva spoke at the same time. "Is there any _other_ information you'd like to share, Director?" Jenny asked icily, leaving no room for a real option to do otherwise.

But at the same time, Ziva's anger had gotten the better of her. "How could this _possibly_ be construed as harming me, father?" she asked, forgetting her formality in lieu of her flaring temper.

"As for information on Kort, I recommend you speak with your FBI and see if _they_ can further enlighten you," he sighed. "…as I tire of playing informant for an agency that cannot keep its agents in line," he shot at the Director. He ignored Ziva's comment—only fueling her fire all the more.

"I assure you, _Deputy _Director David, that my agency is kept fully and wholly in line—just as much as you keep yours in check," Jenny fired back, having abandoned the kid-gloves somewhere around _yo mamma_.

"And I can assure _you_, _Madame_ Director that any agency that remains unaware of the risk posed to national security when your agent" he yelled, gesturing to Tony, "…becomes romantically entangled with the daughter of _the subject_ in your long-term _Federal _investigation, is _no_ agency that remains a benign influence on _my agent_. Good day, Director!" And he was gone.

Ziva turned around to look at Tony, whose face had gone ashen. He looked at her with guilty eyes as he felt his stomach clench in dread. _And the hits just keep on coming!_

* * *

As soon as the screen flashed back to color pattern, Jenny began barking orders to the various MTAC minions about Gibbs, the CIA, and the FBI. She wanted live feed of the interrogation routed to MTAC and a number of other things that seemed to bleed into the background as Tony and Ziva stood rooted to the spot, staring at each other. Ziva took a step toward him and lowered her voice so only she could hear him. "What is he talking about, Tony?" He didn't answer her. "Is it true?" she asked a little more forcefully, taking another step closer.

His eyes flashed for a moment and jerked to Jenny where she stood behind Ziva, her arms folded and her demeanor dangerous. "DiNozzo, David; my office, _now_!" Tony held Ziva's stare until she broke it to follow the director out of MTAC and down the hall, eventually trailing behind them as well.

They filed into Jenny's office slowly. The Director immediately took up her position behind her desk and motioned for Tony to close the door and for both of them to sit at the conference table before her. They both sat stiffly; rigid from the tension and the anger and the frustration. "Officer David," Jenny began. "The information you just heard is need to know _only_. You are _not_ to discuss it with anyone outside this room, is that understood?"

Ziva nodded stiffly, "Yes, Director."

Then Jenny turned her fire to Tony. "_DiNozzo_!" she barked.

"Ma'am?" he asked, very well aware that now was most likely the best time for formality.

"Any ideas on how _Mossad_ came across this information?"

"No ma'am. Though I'd imagine if they were investigating Kort they most likely followed the trail back through La Grenouille and stumbled upon my…" he swallow and stretched his neck, "…assignment."

Jenny sighed and her tone softened a bit. "Right now our priority is La Grenouille, Kort, and this mystery with the CIA, but it is _very_ important that we ascertain how exactly Mossad came by this information—if for no other reason than I do not like being taken by surprise when it comes to my own operations. Is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," they both chorused.

* * *

Twenty minutes later Tony and Ziva hadn't said so much as one word to each other, La Grenouille was still in interrogation, and FBI Agent Tobias Fornell was paying a visit to NCIS, his reputation as a grumpy bastard safely unthreatened.

"Trent Kort," Fornell began, bringing the well-known photo up on the plasma in the center of the squad room. "British National; joined the Agency eleven years ago. Eighteen months ago he was put in position to join the international arms dealer known as La Grenouille and since then he's been providing varying degrees of useful information on shipments, quantity, and buyers."

"That explains why I didn't get any hits off the photo I took eight weeks ago," Tony commented.

"But not why we suddenly got one two days ago, DiNozzo," Gibbs remarked. He looked to Fornell. "Tobias?"

Fornell grunted and brought up more files on the plasma. "About two months back the Agency started getting bad intelligence from Kort leading to more than a few mission failures. The higher-ups created a joint task-force to retrace every move and every piece of information Kort had ever provided us in an effort to suss out whether or not Kort had been compromised."

"Great, a rogue CIA agent handling one of the most formidable arms dealers in the world," Tony commented dryly.

Fornell gave him a quick look and then changed the screen once again. He sighed heavily. "Ten days ago Mossad provided the Bureau with intercepted communications between Kort and an Iranian Intelligence agent they'd been keeping tabs on. During these communications, which are all inadmissible, by the way," he added looking around the room, "Kort made arrangements to sell them the Navy's missile system—"

"ARES," they all chorused.

"…ARES, yes."

"And the Bureau didn't see fit to inform NCIS that the Navy's top technological asset was up for sale to the highest bidder?" Jenny snarled viciously.

"There was no need; ARES was never in danger."

"It was a set-up," Gibbs surmised. "To test Kort…"

"And he failed."

"And Mossad?" Ziva asked, the first she'd spoken since leaving Jenny's office.

Fornell shook his head. "Mossad knew nothing of the investigation…"

"So when Goliath popped up in D.C," Tony began, "Mossad thought they were doing the US a favor by passing along _that_ intel because Goliath could get us to the bottom of the ARES sale."

"Unable to risk compromising our investigation, or tipping off Kort, the Bureau had no choice but to allow NCIS to continue on with its charade once you managed to kill our undercover operative."

"And without ARES," McGee said with the hollowed out voice of a man who realized the magnitude of the problem, "we can't prove Kort's true intention to sell ARES to the Iranians…"

"And therefore can't prove that he's a traitor," Fornell finished.

"But Grenouille can…" Jenny said sadly, knowing what was coming next.

"Which bring us back around to _my_ visit, and _your_ prisoner," Fornell said with the smug smile of a SOB who knew he was getting what he wanted.

* * *

"I can't believe they're going to make a deal with him," Tony said as the team watched Fornell inside the interrogation room with La Grenouille.

"No choice, DiNozzo," Gibbs said without blinking. "The Frog'll still be out of business and the Bureau gets to put away a traitorous double-agent…"

"…who had no problem selling out the Iranians," Ziva finished.

"In a nutshell," Gibbs sighed, exiting the observation room and entering Interrogation to join Fornell as planned.

Tony sighed. _This is worse than a frickin' soap opera_, he decided bitterly. _Join us next week,_ he moderated in his inner announcer voice, _as very stupid Agent DiNozzo arrests his girlfriend's father on charges of terrorism, leverages him to nab a super-evil super-secret agent, and then breaks the heart of his __fake__ girlfriend, who, by the way, he's moronically developed a 'thing' for, while he deals with the betrayal he perpetrated against his partner and ex-lover; correction, ex-__secret__-lover._ Tony wanted to scream, to punch something, to shoot someone—anything to relieve this _feeling_ that he couldn't identify. _This is __so__ frustrating!_ He had about a dozen problems and no answers and he had a feeling in his gut that things were only going to get worse before they got better—_if_ they got better.

Ziva and Tony spied each other simultaneously from their peripheral vision and Ziva flashed back to a scene three and a half months ago. _The doors opened and Ziva walked out, stopping at Tony's voice behind her. It was strong and loud. "Cuz in the end, you'll know that it was the job all along..."_ She had had a little time to put things together…but she wasn't sure how she felt yet. She had so many questions and very few answers. She had a burning desire to know _everything_ but at the same time she'd get a sinking feeling in her gut at the thought of being told things she'd rather not know anything about. She was conflicted and unfocused—and she hated it. _Just another weakness, David…way to go._

"What a mess," McGee commented, oblivious to the tension between Tony and Ziva.

Ziva shook herself out of her thoughts and locked eyes with Tony. "You can say that again, McGee," she whispered.

* * *

Previously on NCIS : /watch?vX8Zpz6b47FM

Ziva's Nightmare: /watch?vfazvhWTrS2A

**So, what do you think? I'll let you all in on a secret: get me past 115 reviews and it may put me into a writing-mania! Imagine the possibilities! So? Go review!!**


	11. Blowback: Part 4

**Title:** Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

**Author:** ChelseaDaggerCinderella

**Summary:** Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

**Author's Note:**

Okay, so, I can't even _begin_ to explain where I've been all this time; suffice it to say that this has been the absolute _worst_ three months of my life—just one tragedy after the other… In any case, this is the second to last chapter that I have written. I have five other chapters written but there is a time gap between these _Blowback_ stories and the chapters I have written for _Recoil_.

In any case, here's the newest chapter. I hope you all enjoy it. I am hoping to do some real writing once my semester is through, so the month of January I am going to try to be busy writing because _I_ love this story and I want to see where it's going as well.

All my best!

* * *

"Renée Benoit," Gibbs said as he entered, accentuating every single syllable until he sounded like a toddler sounding out a word. "You've been a bad boy, Renee," he added, dropping into the seat across from the frog and letting the file in his hand fall to the metal table with an audible _slap_.

Grenouille straightened his wrinkled jacket in earnest and met Gibbs's stare head-on. "You do not intimidate me, Agent…"

"Gibbs," Gibbs answered happily, even adding a head bob and a smile. "And I'm not trying to intimidate you, Renée; there's no need, you see, because we've got you _cold_ on buying ARES, my friend, so really I'm just here babysitting you until the boys come and get you." He paused, Grenouille saying nothing. Gibbs looked around the room, taking in the details that he had long ago memorized. "Kinda boring in here, isn't it?" He let his stare land on the small plasma flat screen on the wall to the left of him. He nodded to it and then to Fornell, who stood silently in the corner. "I wonder if we can get the game in here?—sure make the time fly by quicker." Fornell nodded eagerly and laughed.

Gibbs stood up and tapped on the glass to the observation room, "Hey, Jones, you think you could hook us up?"

"When did Gibbs learn to say 'hook us up'?" Tony asked, a little appalled.

"And who's Jones?" McGee wondered aloud.

Tony sighed. "There is no Jones, Probie!" Tony said, slapping him on the head for good measure. "Use your abnormally large head, McGee!"

"Ow, oh, yeah, right, gotcha, boss—I mean, Tony…_Tony_." Tony grinned manically at McGee as the Junior Field Agent mumbled his excuses to leave the room quickly, so as not to subject himself to Tony's ego any further.

"I love it when he does that!" Tony grinned and turned to Ziva, but she was quite plainly in _no_ mood. He sighed. "You going to stay mad at me forever?" he asked, grateful that, for once, there were no other people in observation.

"No," she said simply, not moving her eyes from the interrogation.

"No?" Tony shook his head, a wry chuckle just barely audible. "That doesn't sound like the Ziva David I know," he said. Ziva swallowed hard and kept her focus straight ahead, her arms folded protectively across her chest. "I lied to you," he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Repeatedly," he added, advancing towards her. _I don't get it,_ he thought. "I gave you the brush off." She fidgeted slightly but still no contact. "I ruined your stew!" he said accusingly. _What the hell? Why isn't she pissed?_

She huffed and turned on him, throwing her arms akimbo. "I _know_ all of these things, Tony!"

"Then why aren't you pummeling me into the ground?" he asked harshly, rather worried about her now. She turned back to the window, resuming her earlier position. _Something's not right_, he decided. He came right up to her, just barely touching her. "Why aren't you angry with me, Ziva?" He felt her stiffen.

Ziva was using _every_ ounce of energy and determination within her to _not_ flip out and to keep it together. But most of all, she was trying to keep from leaning into him. _I could do it,_ she thought. _Just a fraction to my left, that's all it would take…_

"_The truth_," he demanded softly, his breath rushing against her ear and neck, tickling her senses and driving her from her thoughts with a sudden and jarring sense of looming self-implosion. He was completely unaware of the effect he was having on her, too focused on his own worry to realize that in that moment, he was, in fact, making the situation harder on her.

She leaned away from him and went to the door. She turned; her hand on the doorknob. "Because I am unsure as to whether I am entitled to be, Tony." And then she was gone.

Tony shook his head. _What a mess…_

* * *

It had taken about eight minutes for the frog to break. Guantanamo Bay for the rest of his life was not very conducive to La Grenouille's particular lifestyle. He preferred it when bars were restricted to fancy restaurants and hotels that serve only the finest of everything. Iron cages were most definitely _not_ in his life's plan—and it showed.

"You want Kort," the frog stated plainly in his suave French accent. "And in return—"

"…Gitmo is off the table," Gibbs finished.

"And my family?" he asked.

Gibbs looked around in false confusion, landing on Fornell who showed an equal amount of false confusion. Gibbs leaned in full of mock-concern. "Are they terrorists too?" he whispered in a sotto voice.

"My life's goal is to provide for my family—to _protect_ them, Agent Gibbs." He shifted in his seat. "I need assurances that they will be provided for—and kept safe."

"You want the Federal Government to pay your children an allowance?" Fornell asked, astonished. "You've got a brass pair, that's for damn sure," he said, running a hand through what was left of his hair.

"I am sorry, gentlemen, but I'm afraid this is what you call—a deal breaker." He sat back in his seat smugly.

Gibbs shrugged, picked up the file and motioned to Fornell who moved to do the same. "Okay. Rot or not, makes no difference to me—your family gets the same treatment no matter _where_ we send you to spend the rest of your life." Fornell left the room first. Gibbs smiled as he made a move to leave. "_Au revoir_, Renée."

* * *

Tony scanned the squad room for Ziva as he walked, but she wasn't anywhere he could see her. _Should I go find her?_ He was worried about her, just like he was worried about everything else. It was approaching 0700 quicker than Tony would have liked. Jeanne had started working nights a few days ago and he'd agreed to pick her up and take her out to breakfast. He was unsure how he should proceed, and he loathed having to ask Jenny permission to go on a date with his girlfriend. _I'll have to go either way—she has no way home and I'm not leaving her to fend for herself_. He caught himself smiling at the idea of seeing the face she usually made as she exited the hospital for the night. A cross between _kill me_ and _I'm free_.

His cell rang, bringing him out of those thoughts—and then _right_ back into them as he thought for a moment that it wasn't _his_ cell that was ringing—it wasn't Tony DiNardo's cell and it wasn't Jeanne calling. It was his NCIS cell, Jenny's name appearing on the display. _Weird_, he thought. "DiNozzo."

"Have you made contact with La Grenouille?" she asked.

He hesitated. "I thought it best not to for the moment."

"Good. Keep your distance, Tony. I want your cover intact until after we have Kort in custody."

"I take it our friendly neighborhood arms-dealer broke under Gibbs's mindful stare, then?"

There was a pause. "He took the deal." Tony went to say something but Jenny beat him to it, cutting off anymore conversation on his end. "Keep your distance from La Grenouille, Tony, and maintain your cover."

"So then I take it I'll be leaving now?" he asked—a little sour at now being _told_ to go out with his girlfriend. _Damned if you do, damned if you don't_, he thought to himself wryly.

"Like I said—_maintain_ your cover."

"Understood," he said tightly, and disconnected.

* * *

Tony angled his car into a space on the street outside University Hospital at about 0715 and shut off the engine. He released a huge breath of air and felt himself deflate a little bit. It had been a long, long, _long_ night and it looked like the day wasn't going to be any better. He shook his head back and forth vigorously, trying to reinvigorate himself on no sleep. He stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders. _Show time, Mr. Di__Nardo_, he said, hurling himself out of the car and towards the hospital entrance. Reminding himself of his alias's identity didn't seem to help his mood any. _Probably made it worse_, he commented idly.

When he made it to the reception desk at Jeanne's station he plastered on a huge smile and tried to shake himself out of Agent DiNozzo's personal blues and apprehension. "Dr. Benoit," he said suavely, coming up behind her and whispering into her ear. "Your driver has arrived, Doctor."

She laughed and turned around with a bright smile especially for him. She threw her arms around his neck and gave him a quick kiss. "Well it's about time," she threw at him playfully. "I was starting to think you'd stood me up."

_Almost had to…_ "_You?"_ he asked in shock. He shook his head and looked at her adoringly, "Never."

Then she gave him _the look_—the one he adored so much; the one that made him feel as if everything would be okay and all his problems would just disappear if only he could stay right here with her in this moment. "Be careful, Professor," she whispered close to his lips. "…a girl could get used to this." And then she kissed him and he went with her willingly.

Five minutes later she was signed out, packed up and walking hand-in-hand with him back towards his car. He put his arm around her and held her close as she told him about her night and stories here and there about her co-workers or the occasional patient. She laughed at something, but he wasn't really paying attention. For some reason he was suddenly hyper-aware of their surroundings and a feeling that something just wasn't _right_. _Cop-gut_, he thought to himself. He took another look around but he couldn't come up with anything to support his feeling, so he tried to shake it off and return his attention to Jeanne before she realized that he wasn't exactly 100% with her.

"Tony, what is it?" she asked from her seat next to him, freezing his movement to insert the key into the ignition. She took his hand, key included, and brought it into her lap comfortingly. "What's wrong, Tony? You can tell me."

He laughed bitterly to himself. _No, I __really__ can't, Jeanne, and thanks for reminding me of that_. He smiled at her, all teeth, "It's nothing, I just didn't get a lot of sleep last night and I'm a little…" he didn't finish his sentence, just rocked his head back and forth with a silly, sloppy grin on his face, rolling his eyes for good measure as well.

She laughed. "Are you sure that's all? Because you know you can tell me anything, right?" He didn't respond. "You know that, right, Tony?"

He swallowed hard and brought his other hand up to the side of her face for sincerity's sake. "Of course I know that, Jeanne. And it means a lot, especially in my line of work," he said, a little _too_ sincere. _Shit!_ he thought.

But she didn't think much of it; she just laughed. "Teaching, Tony?"

He kissed her lips quickly to distract her and cocked an eyebrow at her dramatically. "Well, ya know—it's a dirty job, but someone's gotta do it." She laughed again. "Breakfast?" he asked, removing his hand from her grasp and starting the engine.

"Breakfast," she agreed.

* * *

Tony walked back into the office two hours later, thoroughly exhausted and emotionally angered. He'd spent all morning lying left and right. He couldn't give Jeanne _one_ real answer all day; everything was falsified or edited or an outright lie. It wasn't usually this hard—most days it was just the two of them doing whatever they wanted and it wasn't all about him.

He supposed that it was his own fault in more ways than one. He'd taken the assignment, willingly—even _eager_ at the time—and since then he'd let himself grow attached to her. Sometimes he wondered how out of all the women he'd gone out with—and there had been many—it had been _this_ one who had made him feel so vulnerable and emotionally involved. Then every time he thought that, it made him realize that it wasn't _just_ Jeanne that made him feel this way—because there were always the feelings he had for Ziva. _But that's __yet another__ complication, DiNozzo_. Because _technically_ he wasn't allowed to have Ziva any more than he was allowed to be with the subject of his assignment; it just wasn't as uncommon, unheard of, or _taboo_ to fall for one's partner as it was to fall for your mark.

_Bang up job, DiNozzo_, he thought self-deprecatingly as he walked behind his desk, and turned to see Ziva giving him a look from across the way. She had changed out of her black utilities and into her normal clothes: desert camo cargo pants, black turtle-neck, boots, and a look that could kill.

_Well __that's__ not good… _"Something up?" he asked. Her hair was swept up into a pony-tail, which told Tony she was going for function and ease today as opposed to comfort. _So it's going to be one of __those__ days_, he thought, wishing he'd worn something more appropriate for ass-kicking and sleeping at his desk.

Ziva looked at him again, her feet up on her desk, legs crossed, and her emotions tightly in check—she was in no mood to deal with their more _personal_ situation right now. "They know, Tony," she said simply.

"Who?" he asked, sitting down. "And what do they know?"

She brought her legs down and leaned on her elbows, "The team; they know about you—and her," she said, proud that she revealed no emotion. _I will not be weak—for him or anyone…_

Tony knew it would happen. He wasn't too upset about it, really. _Wonder how pissed Gibbs is…_

"The Director had to read them in when Gibbs and Agent Fornell began to formulate the plan for using La Grenouille as bait for Kort. They are _re_formulating as we speak."

There was something in her voice that rubbed Tony the wrong way. _She's acting strange…something was off._ He looked around the bull pen and realized that McGee's desk was empty. _Huh._ He turned back to Ziva and was taken aback by the scornful look he saw in her eyes. "Where's McGee?" he asked, trying to be nonchalant but failing miserably.

The look in her eyes intensified. "As I told you, Tony—they are planning."

"And why aren't we in there with them then, Zee-vah?"

She laughed bitterly, only with Ziva, a bitter laugh was a sign of danger. "_You_ are not in there Tony because you were not here when they started and _now_ you are here with me as opposed to being _in there_" she rambled, motioning to the conference room. "And _I_ am not _in there_ because I am—"

"—out here?" Tony interrupted, tongue-in-cheek.

"…being punished," she finished tightly.

"Punished?" he asked.

"The Director vouched for me, saying my knowledge of your assignment had been _very _short-term and kept secret under her direct orders, but Gibbs did not take very kindly to the amount of _secrecy_ of late."

"Are you telling me that you've been exiled out here?"

"Pending Gibbs's change of heart or the need for my participation in this _master plan_ of theirs, yes." She resumed her earlier position. "I am in the dog house, so to speak."

_Because of me_, he cursed himself.

"At least he's not making you wait in the elev—"

"DiNozzo! David!" Gibbs barked from the conference room door. "Get in here!"

Tony rose quickly to acquiesce. "You're not alone, though," he whispered to Ziva with sincerity as he passed her. She just scowled harder.

* * *

"…and then my team will move in and grab Kort," Fornell finished. "Any questions?"

"Yeah. Do we have a backup plan?" Tony asked tongue-in-cheek. Gibbs slapped him. "Ow!—right; gotcha, boss."

"DiNozzo, I want you wired when you go to the hospital tomorrow," Gibbs said. _Well, that'll be cozy_, Tony thought. _Just me, Jeanne, and Gibbs—and the entire NCIS/FBI tactical team_. "You understand me, DiNozzo?"

"Yeah, boss," Tony sighed. "I gotcha."

"Ziva—" Gibbs started, but was cut off by a ringing coming from Tony's pocket. Everyone stopped to stare as he pulled out his _other_ cell phone.

He looked at the caller ID and internally cursed. _Damnit!_ He looked up at Gibbs. "It's Jeanne—should I answer it?" _Please say 'no,' boss; please tell me I don't have to have this conversation in front of—everyone._

"If that's what you usually do, DiNozzo," Gibbs said dryly.

"Well, I usually make an excuse and duck out…" Gibbs gave him a look. "Right, boss, answering the phone now." He flipped it open and put it to his ear. Gibbs gave him another look—one that said _are you stupid?_—and Tony realized his mistake. He put it on speaker, begrudgingly. "I thought you were going to sleep," he said, trying to maintain his usually happy demeanor with Jeanne while under the watchful eyes of his co-workers—and Ziva.

"Well the darnedest thing happened," she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. "I was just about to crawl into bed when I got a call from my father…"

Tony locked eyes with Gibbs, "Your father, huh?" Gibbs made a motion to Fornell who took off out the door.

"He's in town," she started, "only for a day or two, of course, leave it to Papa to make an international drive-by, but I told him that I'd meet him tomorrow after my shift at the hospital." To a casual observer it would seem as if she was getting ready to give him the brush-off for tomorrow, but Tony knew that the higher inflection of her voice meant that she was excited, and not worried about having to break a date…she wanted something.

"Oh really? Blowing me off for an older man?—how passé." Gibbs made a wild motion with his hand as McGee looked nervously to Tony, both of them convinced that the plan had just been shot to hell. Tony held up a hand and shook his head. _Trust me_.

"Well, actually, I was kind of hoping that you might be inclined to join us. I know meeting the father after less than four months isn't exactly an easy proposition but he's in town so infrequently, I was sort of hoping to appeal to your sense of natural logic."

Gibbs cocked an eyebrow at that while Ziva could no longer hold back the look of stunned horror that she'd been feeling since she'd finally heard the voice of the other woman.

_The other woman?_—Ziva thought, disgusted with her choice of words. _She's just a person_, Ziva assured herself…_who Tony got close to_, another inner voice reminded her. Ziva thought of the smile that graced his features every time Jeanne called him at work; the look of calmness that seemed to overtake his body whenever they talked; and the smile that threatened his features at this very moment, even as he sat in a room full of his scrutinizing co-workers who were all planning her father's take-down. Ziva swallowed painfully, her stomach twisting in a painful knot that only got worse when she berated herself for opening herself up to this weakness in the first place. _It is your own fault, Ziva…_

Tony leaned back in his chair, concentrating on playing the situation to his advantage because he couldn't seem too eager—it had to be realistic. _Playing the situation to my advantage?_—he repeated to himself in horror. _Wow, DiNozzo, real nice._ "And flattery, apparently," he said with the smile he couldn't afford to show on his face plainly evident in his voice.

"A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do," she said with a girlish whisper. Tony stretched uncomfortably as Ziva turned her head away in disgust.

His tone changed—it was more serious now. "I don't know, Jeanne…" He let that hang in the air for a moment, allowing the tension in his voice to do that talking for him. He still had his hand outstretched to Gibbs, a reminder that he knew what he was doing.

"Please, Tony," she said seriously a few moments later. "I know it's a lot to ask but it would mean a lot to me."

_Bingo_, Gibbs mouthed to him, pointing to the phone. Tony nodded solemnly and waited a beat or two. "Okay, Jeanne. I'll see you—and your father—when I pick you up tomorrow."

"Thank you, Tony," she said happily, and hung up. Tony looked up into the faces of his team. Gibbs looked satisfied and proud; McGee looked impressed, and Ziva—was gone.

_I really do suck_, Tony thought. _I just turned a phone call with Jeanne into a strategic tactical scenario, I stepped all over Ziva to do it—and I'm not even dating her anymore…_ Tony flipped the phone closed and sighed. "Don't thank me yet," he said under his breath.

* * *

Tony had been planning on dealing with this earlier, but he'd gotten sidetracked by, well, _life_. He took a breath and then pushed the door open, following Gibbs into the restroom and going to work at the urinal next to him. Gibbs was slightly amused. "Are you following me?" he asked.

Tony chuckled "No…" _I wouldn't call it __following__ boss, I'm merely cornering you in a place where we can be free to speak plainly and as men—who need to apologize._ "Why would I do that?"

Gibbs cocked his head. "I was just asking myself the same question."

_Wow, a little awkward isn't it? I suppose urinals get like that when two men are standing next to each other, holding what they're holding, and unable to actually pee. _Tony started to whistle, hoping to ease the absolute tension.

Gibbs shook his head and smiled. "Want me to run some water?"

Tony smiled. _Nice to see the boss gets awkward too._ "No, I'm all right. I just…" _need to tell you how sorry I am._

Gibbs finished up and flushed, his shoulders slumping slightly and his bluster giving way to a wry smile. "Ah, just _say_ it, DiNozzo."

Tony didn't hesitate. "I'm sorry, boss. I uh…" _feel like a shit._ "I've been wanting to tell you for a long time, but the situation is…" _messy_.

"Complicated?" he guessed.

_That works too_. "Exactly. The Director's got this really strict rule about—"

"—secrets?" Gibbs finished.

"Yeah…" _Damn, he's good—the man knows everything._ "The point is…I owe you everything. You taught me how to do this job. I never wanted to lie to you." _But I kind of fell apart after you left—not for long—but long enough to…_

Gibbs sighed and pulled paper towels from the dispenser, drying his hands. "Hell, DiNozzo, you were following orders. I would have done the same thing."

_Would he really?_ Tony wondered. "Would you?" _Did I actually manage to do something right in all of this?_

"Yeah." Gibbs balled the paper up and gave Tony a look that said _duh!_

Tony wasn't so sure. _He would have deceived the man who gave him a new start? His mentor? Just like that?_ "You would have lied to Mike Franks?" Tony asked despite his hopes that perhaps he hadn't screwed up after all. Tony silently prayed for Gibbs to reassure him once more—to tell him he really would have kept it from Franks and that Tony hadn't misused Gibbs's trust and lost his respect. _Come on_, he pleaded with whatever powers there were. _Please._ Gibbs just tossed the paper ball into the trash, gave him a look that Tony couldn't read for the life of him, and left the bathroom.

* * *

Previously on NCIS : .com/watch?v=X8Zpz6b47FM

Ziva's Nightmare: .com/watch?v=fazvhWTrS2A


	12. Blowback: Part 5

**Title:** Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

**Author:** ChelseaDaggerCinderella

**Summary:** Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

**Author's Note:**

Okay, so I finally got my rear in gear and I started writing again! I was _so_ pissed that I couldn't come up with chapters that it was tearing me apart. I love writing this story and every time I tried—and believe me, I _did_ try—all I wrote was some really horrible garbage. _I_ hated writing it so you all were going to loathe reading it.

I kept throwing out chapter after chapter of really God-awful crap. But I finally succeeded in writing something good…at least I hope.

**Peachy-x-** Thanks for the welcome back and the warm praise. It's good to know that I can still wow readers after I've been silent for so long.

**M E Wofford** Thanks for the hug! It's much appreciated.

**MyNCISFetish** I try to remain realistic—that's why it takes so much time and energy to create a really good chapter. So, thanks for noticing. Finally, thanks for lighting a fire under me. "I'd like to see more creativity on your part though ;)"—gotta say, that comment is what got me writing.

Thanks for all the warm wishes and the reviews! Now, on with the show!

* * *

Tony wanted to find Ziva before he left. He didn't feel right about the way they had last left things. She was still his partner and they still had a job to do. _You're full of crap, DiNozzo_, he chastised. Yeah, he wanted to make sure that this wouldn't be distracting to them while they were in the middle of a highly sensitive operation, but he also felt like an ass—or a donkey's butt, as Ziva would say. _I haven't treated her fairly at all…_ He regretted a lot of things as of late but the way he'd been treating Ziva just wasn't something he would ever allow himself to get away with or to write off under the heading of _I was just doing my job_. That was for cowards and spineless jack-holes with the sensitivity of a head of cabbage. _And Ziva doesn't deserve that…_

He found her in the conference room cleaning her gun. _Never a good sign._ She didn't look up or turn around as he entered and then closed the door behind him. He just stood there for a moment taking in the sight of her; the line of her jaw, her face set in hard concentration, and her aura radiating a vulnerability that he knew, instantly, she hated. "I'm sorry I got you in trouble, Ziva. I'm sorry about a lot of things actually."

She sighed, and ran her brush over the chamber once more. "Are we about to have one of _those_ conversations, Tony? I would like to prepare myself if we are."

He sat down in the chair next to her and put his hand over hers, stopping her movements and forcing her to look up at him. "I'm _sorry_, Ziva." His eyes were sincere, she decided. But she didn't say anything. "I never wanted it to go down like this; that was _never_ my intention." Still she said nothing. "You know that, right?" he asked, not even noticing how similar this entire interaction was to the one he'd had with Jeanne yesterday morning. "Ziva, I'd never…intentionally…" he shook his head, trying to focus his thoughts. "I never thought…and…I'm drowning here, Ziva." Her heart broke a little. "I don't know what to say to you to make this right. _Is _there a way to make things right between us again?" Silence. "Ziva…"

She released the gun and squeezed his hand, her heart beating rapidly, and her eyes perilously close to watering. "I do not think that we can rightfully have this conversation, Tony." She shook her head. "Not yet." She closed her eyes and tried to blink away the tears that she promised herself she _would not_ shed. "There is too much yet to be decided—for both of us." She felt the pad of his thumb on her cheekbone and she startled at both the feel of him after so long _without _contact and at the realization that she'd failed—and let a single teardrop fall.

* * *

Tony couldn't believe it. He walked out of the hospital arm-in-arm with Jeanne and was utterly astonished. He knew Gibbs's feelings about coincidences, but having the night they'd had after the day he knew they were _about_ to have was just too _in_convenient for one not to have _something _to do with the other. He shook his head. _There's __no__ way they're connected, DiNozzo, you're grasping at straws_.

After he'd talked with Ziva he'd gotten a call from Jeanne suggesting that he might want to stop by earlier as it looked like a slow night and she might be able to leave early or at the very least, escape for a bit for coffee. Gibbs and Jenny hadn't wanted him to do anything that could throw a wrinkle in the plan, and since his part in the op was to keep up appearances, away he went—with Ziva staring holes into the back of his head.

Drug dealers, junkies, and a gun fight on the night before NCIS and the FBI engage in a sting operation with a known arms-dealer in order to nab a CIA traitor. _It doesn't get more screwed up than this_, Tony thought darkly, rubbing his head where he'd gotten bashed.

Jeanne snuggled into his side, oblivious to the wild stream of thoughts flowing through his head. "You should be under observation for 24 hours," she commented seductively.

He leaned into her in kind, "Whatever doctor orders," he insinuated. She laughed, bringing him closer.

"**Heads up, Tango-eight,"** came the Director's voice through the ear-wig that had only _just_ come online at 0700…_of course_.

A limo rounded the corner. _Here we go_, Tony thought, readying himself. "What's this?" he asked a seemingly innocent-looking Jeanne as she moved closer to the limo.

"My secret," she said with so much joy that it hurt him in his gut to know that her whole world would most probably get turned upside down in the next few hours. _Oh, Jeanne, I wish I could spare you this pain…but I've helped to cause it._ She opened the limo door and ducked in, "Bonjour, Papa," she said happily, Tony crawling in right behind her and taking a seat on the bench opposite her.

"Bonjour, Muffin," Renee Benoit said, genuinely happy to see his daughter though he was currently in Federal custody as per the two FBI agents playing chauffeur up front. Grenouille turned to Tony, "So this must be Anthony DiNardo."

"Mmm-hmm," Jeanne nodded proudly.

"Welcome to the family, Professor!" he announced enthusiastically.

"**No sign of target yet, Tango-eight, hold steady."**

"My father knows everything about you," Jeanne said, proud of that fact.

_I hope not,_ Tony thought.

"Only what my daughter tells me," Grenouille clarified.

"And I tell him everything," Jeanne re-clarified.

"That's great!" Tony said, offering up as much enthusiasm as he could when all he wanted to do was hurl. **"Keep him on schedule, Tango-eight. Not too obvious, though."** _Thanks, __so__ much, Jenny. _"So," he said, nervously. "Here we all are…on our way to, um—where exactly are we headed?"

"I don't know," he said, looking between Jeanne and Tony. "Breakfast?" Jeanne nodded her consent. "A chance for us to get to know each other." He looked at Tony strangely. "I'm sure you've lots of questions; I know I do."

"My apartment first, Papa," Jeanne insisted. "You wouldn't believe the night we've had," she said, going into the entire thing, much to Tony's relief. _He's looking at me strangely…_ Jeanne's pager went off mid-explanation. She sighed, looking at the display with chagrin. "I forgot to sign the death certificate to release the body," she sighed. "Sorry, papa." He shrugged and shouted up to the driver to return to the hospital.

"Well, I guess breakfast is gonna have to wait," Tony said, more for the team's benefit than his own or that of any of the occupants of the limo. **"Understood, Tango-eight, slow and steady."**

"And all those intriguing questions," Grenouille said, only adding to the gut-feeling Tony had been experiencing all night. He smiled tightly, and nodded.

"I won't be long," Jeanne said, stepping out of the limo.

"**Stay with the girl, Tango-eight."** "I can come with you, if you want," Tony said, making him sound desperate and signaling her with his eyes. She didn't get it, though.

She kissed him on the lips. "No need. He won't bite," she whispered, leaving him with Grenouille.

The older man clapped him on the back and smiled strangely at him. "Coffee?" he asked, nodding to the coffee stand a few feet across the way.

"**Play along, Tango-eight."** Tony sighed. "Coffee would be great."

"Good. While we wait you can tell me how you stole my daughter's heart."

_Oh goody,_ Tony thought.

* * *

Jeanne came back out ten minutes later. She waved to the two of them as she exited and they each rose from the bench they'd inhabited. "Done!" she exclaimed, as she made her way towards them, bumping into a woman walking her dog as she went. "Ah," she said, almost losing her balance. The woman just kept walking. She shook her head, "Gotta love manners these days," she said sarcastically. "Now let's get out of here before they remember something else," she said dramatically, as Tony swept her into his embrace.

"**Get us back on track, Tango-eight."** "To breakfast?" he clarified in a suggestive tone.

"To breakfast," Grenouille concluded.

"After a stop at my apartment," she reminded gently, turning around in Tony's embrace and catching sight of his car. "Oh, Tony, you have to move your car." Tony opened his mouth to object but got cut off. Jeanne turned to her father. "They'll tow him for sure, Papa—they're murder around here."

"**T---go eight," Jenny crackled in his ear, her transmission garbled. ** She spoke again but he couldn't make it out—something was wrong. He cleared his throat, taking advantage of the situation. "You can say that again," he said pointedly, hoping she'd repeat transmission, but all he got was more transmission noise. _Uh oh_, he thought.

Things were not going well in MTAC. "Sit-rep, tango-eight!" Jenny demanded, getting no response. "Get me secondary satellite coverage now!" she ordered. "Agent Fornell, do you have your people?" Jenny demanded.

"Negative," he said, just as angry and in the dark.

Gibbs was pissed. "McGee what the hell is happening."

"I don't know, boss, I'm working on it," he said, typing away at the computer.

Gibbs leaned down over McGee's shoulder menacingly. "Work harder, McGee," he said in a semi-dangerous tone. "I want to know why we lost that signal!" he shouted to the room.

"Uh, Gibbs?" Abby piped up from the speaker phone. "I don't think we did."

"Abby, I'm staring at static!" he reasoned.

"Well, technically, you can't stare at static cuz it's—"

"Abby!"

"Right, um, we didn't lose the signal so much as it was stolen." Clicking from Abby's keyboards could be heard in the background. "Someone is re-routing the signal to another server and then using a variable wave pattern encryption to redirect it to an alternate location."

"Are you telling me someone _hacked_ in and took it?" Jenny asked, more calmly than Gibbs, but only just barely.

McGee shook his head. "No one hacked it, it looks like there was signal interference…an energy burst of some kind disrupted the feed long enough for someone to program in a new signal code."

Gibbs ripped off his headset, "I want to know _who_ and _how to get it back_, ASAP! Ziva, you're with me."

"Jethro—" Jenny started.

"What?" he yelled back.

She gave him a hard stare and then motioned to the screen that had been previously airing static—no matter what Abby said. Now, however, he could see the video from the satellite coverage streaming in. He motioned for Ziva to take her seat again, and he put his headset back on. "I want a fix on DiNozzo and The Frog…now!"

Two side-by-side images came up on the screen. "Boss, the GPS signal from the limo is fried—the signal, I don't know where it came from but as long as it's within range it's going to block all of our efforts to—"

"What about DiNozzo's cell? Can you get a fix on that?"

"Negative, boss, same effect."

Gibbs threw up his hands. "Well, what _can_ you tell me, McGee?" Gibbs asked in angered futility.

McGee stuttered and stammered, not able to come up with anything. And then the computer made a bleeping noise and McGee sighed in relief. "Boss, Tony's cell just came back on line. Bringing up the GPS coordinates now."

"Show me," Gibbs and Jenny chorused together.

One of the two boxes on screen came to life with a picture of Tony's car sitting where it was parked on the street. "Is DiNozzo in there, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

"Cell phone places him there, having just tried to make a call. He couldn't get a signal, though."

"Can you get in closer, Tim?" Jenny asked.

"Satellite is operating on a slight delay…the quality is gonna be crap if I—" but he never got the chance to finish. Because an explosion rocked the screen—and it was Tony's car.

* * *

"You believe in miracles, Ziva?" McGee asked her as she sat at her desk. She'd been eerily quiet and emotional since they'd returned from the scene of the explosion, the body in the car haunting each of them still.

Ziva sat with her head in her hands, her spirit too broken to do much of anything else other than sit there in the misery she'd helped to inflict upon herself. "Not part of my training," she commented weakly.

"It might not be Tony," he commented.

McGee replayed the footage of the explosion over and over again. "Must you keep doing that?" Ziva asked a little annoyed—the first Ziva-like emotion she'd displayed all day.

"I just keep thinking if I play it enough times I'll find something that'll tell us it's not Tony down there," he said sadly. "Just because we found his ID doesn't mean it's Tony…"

She didn't say anything, mostly because she wished he actually _would_ find something to tell them that it wasn't Tony down there. _But how could that be?_ A body in Tony's car, Grenouille and the girl MIA, along with two unaccounted for FBI Agents. She shook her head. "His car, his ID, his weapon…_both of his cell phones_, McGee?" _The likelihood at this point, of it __not__ being Tony…is slim to none._

"I just…" he hesitated. "I'm not ready to accept that it was Tony in that car, Ziva."

She nodded. _I can understand that…I most certainly can, McGee_.

"You don't have to, Timothy," Ducky said storming through the squad room.

"What do you got, Duck?" Gibbs asked, storming in from the other side of the room.

"Tony contracted pneumonic plague, as I'm sure everyone can remember…"

Ziva stood, coming over. "Before my time," she commented.

"He almost died," McGee said.

"From severe pneumonia," Ducky explained. "As a result, his lungs would've been extensively scarred. _Unlike_ the almost pristine lung of the man currently in autopsy." He waited for a moment. "The body on which I am performing an autopsy is _not_ Tony's…"

Ziva had never heard more beautiful words in her entire life. She smiled and almost cried—_almost_. _Oh thank you; thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you._

"If it's not Tony," the Director said. "…then who is it?"

"And where is DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked.

"I'm right here, boss," Tony said, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

Ziva whipped around, a smile breaking out on her face despite her attempts at remaining emotionally subdued. She couldn't help it, though; in the span of ninety seconds she'd gone from grieving for him—as she couldn't help but believe he was dead—to rejoicing in the information that he had _not_ been blown to bits in that explosion, and then suddenly, he was right behind her; alive and in all his glory.

Yes, she couldn't help it—that's why she jumped him, hugging him tightly and then letting go just as fast, very aware of prying and very curious eyes all around. She cleared her throat to cover, and looked at his surprised face. "Thank you, for not being dead," she said, and he had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing.

He nodded. "You're welcome."

"Where's Grenouille?" Jenny demanded.

"What, no balloons?" he asked, receiving a scowl from both the Director and Agent Fornell. "Right, uh, the Benoit family is downstairs in the garage awaiting transport to wherever it is that they're going." Fornell took off in that direction.

"Ducky," Gibbs said, "Find out who our mystery stiff is, huh?"

"Right away, Jethro," he said with gusto, his spirit renewed along with Tony's life. "I never believed it for a minute, my dear boy," he whispered to Tony on his way back to the elevator.

"What happened, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked.

Ziva brought Tony a bottle of water and a chair—he looked like he was about to drop. He smiled his thanks and gulped half of it before he shook himself. "When you're ready," Jenny said.

"When the ear-wig went out I looked to the two FBI guys up front. They seemed fine; didn't think anything had gone wrong—so I held my position figuring that it was something affecting just mine and that I'd wing it from there."

"The car?" Jenny questioned.

He sighed. "Jeanne made the argument for me to move it and I went to when Grenouille stopped me, said for me to ride with them and they'd come back for it on the way back from Jeanne's."

"Your cell phones?" she queried again.

"The second I got in the car I made a move to call in to figure out what the hell was happening. I didn't get through though; my cell signal was disrupted too." He rubbed his head. "Then Grenouille was over my shoulder telling me the new plan and I left them both in the car—like an idiot."

"What about the body we found?" Gibbs said.

"What body?" he asked, alarmed.

"You don't know anything about the man we found in the remnants of your car?" McGee asked, astonished.

"No," he said quite seriously. "I shut off the engine, left the car, and rode with them in the limo. We'd barely pulled out when the car blew."

"And Grenouille?" Jenny asked. "What was his first reaction?"

"That he was the target, naturally. The FBI floored it to the evac-point to make sure we weren't followed and then we headed back here in separate cars as per protocol." He paused. "So who died in my car?" he asked.

No one answered.

* * *

Ziva found Tony in the men's washroom dousing his face in water. She closed the door behind her and turned the lock.

He looked up and quirked a smile…and a sigh. "You know, I saw this on, uh, Cinemax once," he said.

She took a step forward. "So, what happens now?"

He reached out for paper towels to pat down his face. "They play some funky music and then you say: 'I have been watching from afar.'"

She looked at him solemnly. "Tony…"

He sighed deeply and collapsed against the wall completely drained of all energy. "It's been a day, Ziva," he said with a wry chuckle, hanging his head.

She took a tentative step toward him, laying a hand on his shoulder. He didn't move other than to bring his hand up and cover hers, grasping it tightly. They stayed like that for a moment until he broke the spell. "So you thought I was dead, huh?" he asked.

She gulped, getting defensive and making a move to pull her hand away. He tightened his grip and looked at her, almost melting her. "Hey," he said soothingly, holding her hand tighter and letting their entwined hands fall beside them. "Thank you."

She looked at him, curiously. "What for?" she asked.

He entwined their fingers like he used to, and rubbed her knuckles with the pad of his thumb, just as he'd used it to wipe away her unwanted tear earlier. "For wanting me alive," he said. She smiled and nodded, knowing that was a big thing for him to say. "And for returning my letter opener," he added cheekily.

She gave a short bark of laughter and smiled wide for a moment. "Caught that, did you?" she asked slyly. He nodded with a smile. "Technically, you were done with it…" she began innocently.

"That _was_ true, yes," he agreed.

"…But thankfully _not_ anymore," she said with fierce protectiveness. "And for that we are thankful, yes?"

"Yes," he said seriously, not breaking eye contact. "Yes, we are."

If anyone else had heard that conversation they most likely would have thought it a weird thing to say—of course people would rather you alive than dead, so what great meaning could something like that possibly hold? But for the two of them it was a lot because it was the way they were around each other—he with his strange sense of humor, and she with her emotional distance. So it made sense for this statement to be _a moment_ for the two of them. And, Ziva noted to herself, her eyes sad, it would probably be their last one for a while…

* * *

"Every bomb maker has a signature," Abby began, telling her story as to who bombed Tony's car. "The components, the way it's assembled—sometimes right down to the color tape they use to bind it all together," she continued, bringing up images of other explosions on her computer. "In this case, the components are common to at least nine other bombs that have gone off in the last four years." She clicked again. "I made the match on Interpol," she said. "The bombs have gone off all over the world; Algeria, Indonesia, the Middle East, Chechnya," she listed.

"I'm honored," Tony said sarcastically. _Someone went to so much trouble to fry my ass…_

"Anything linking the victims?" Ziva asked.

"They were all arms dealers," Abby clarified.

"The only problem is, Tony's not an arms dealer," McGee added. _Yeah, Probie, __that's__ the only problem we've got going on right now,_ he growled in his head before it clicked. _Jeanne; the target wasn't me—it was Jeanne._

"His girlfriend's father's an arms dealer," Gibbs reminded.

_Oh God, why didn't I see it before?_ "She's been working nights," he explained. "I pick her up every morning for breakfast."

"You park the car, theystrap on the bomb, set the timer, and walk away," Ziva told him, her tone rather patronizing with a hint of chastising as well, in Tony's opinion.

"You weren't the target," Gibbs told him. "She was."

"Maybe she still is," Tony said. _ This isn't good…_

Gibbs nodded to Tony to go and talk to Jeanne. "She's upstairs; I'll talk to Fornell."

"One more thing!" Abby yelled, halting the men in their tracks. "I figured out why the signals were disrupted, and you're not gonna like it."

"I haven't liked much of anything lately, Abs, I'm thinking whatever you have isn't gonna make much of a difference," Gibbs said tiredly. "Whatcha got?"

"This," she said, holding out a small micro-dot in an evidence bag. "It's a signal disrupter—the smallest one I've ever seen too. This is high-end stuff, here."

"How did _that_ take down the entire surveillance detail?" Tony asked, perplexed.

"After Paulson broke into Tony's car and planted the micro-listener in his Dictaphone I added some extra bug-sweepers to the lab and a few scattered around the squad room," she said, pulling up a diagram on her computer.

"I didn't see any sweepers, Abby," Tony said.

"That is the point, yes?" Ziva said.

"_And…_?" Gibbs prompted impatiently.

"And as soon as McGee put the Benoit girl into the conference room my computer went crazy—seriously, I thought I was going to have to sedate them, which seeing as they're computers I wasn't going to be able to do, obviously, and…"

"Abs!" Gibbs barked.

"Right. Sorry. Okay, so I used a hand-held to sweep Jeanne's clothes, and found this embedded on her coat." She waived the evidence bag again. "It's a smart little bugger—preprogrammed to zap any signal with in fifteen feet."

"Explains why the com systems failed," Tony said haggardly.

"And the GPS," McGee added.

"And the cell phones," Ziva put in, looking pointedly at Tony.

"Still doesn't explain who our mystery driver is," Gibbs reminded them all, referring to Mr. Crispy Critter in Autopsy.

"Ducky's still working on it," McGee said in return.

"That's good work, Abs," Gibbs said, dropping a kiss onto her cheek and walking out. But not before shooting Tony a look that said _take care of it_. And the 'it' in question was waiting for him in the conference room upstairs—and more than likely, very, very, confused.

* * *

Hours later the members of team Gibbs left the Navy Yard one by one and each all by themselves. As soon as he could get away Tony tracked down a cab and told the driver where to take him to get away from everything.

As soon as Ziva got home she climbed into bed and almost instantly she fell asleep. She was so dead tired that she didn't even dream—something that pleased and relieved her to no end. Then at a few minutes past midnight her phone rang…and she stupidly answered it.

* * *

**I want some **_**mega**_** reviewing here, people. I know there are a lot of you out there who are reading this and I want to hear from all of you—even it's a simple "Hey there, I'm out here and I'm still reading!" Got it?**

**Who knows? If I hit 150 reviews I may go into a writing frenzy! And I have six hours of dedicated writing time tomorrow in which to go crazy…so talk to me, folks.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Also, I've been trying to post these links in the past few chapters and for some reason it's not working. I made two videos and posted them on youtube. One is a "Previously On NCIS" that tells you everything you need to know about the show before reading this, and the other is my video interpretation of Ziva's recurring nightmare. I think it really helps to visualize the terror.**

Previously on NCIS : Go to youtube and search "Previously on NCIS" and/or "Pantherpal" (username)

Ziva's Nightmare: Go to youtube and search "Ziva's Nightmare" and/or "Pantherpal" (username)


	13. Mahogany and Whiskey

**Title:** Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

**Author:** ChelseaDaggerCinderella

**Summary:** Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

**Author's Note:**

Okay, guys, these are _actual_ author's notes this time. Lol. Something you all should be aware of before reading the newest installment of "Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps" is:

We have some flashbacks in this chapter and in the upcoming chapters as well. I write flashbacks in _ITALICS_, which is obvious, but just for clarification's sake, please take notice that when the text in _not_ italicized I used italics for the characters' thoughts (something I'm sure you are all quite comfortable with by now). However, when I'm in flashback mode, everything _except_ the characters' thoughts are in italics. I have complete confidence in you all, so I'm not _too_ worried; I just wanted to put it out there in case.

Okay, that was it but stay tuned for a little bit more, um, _mature_ chapter 14. I didn't go crazy or anything, but let's just say that those of you who were in TIVA-withdrawal should be _very_ happy…kind of. Also, I may end up upping the rating as the chapters go on and we get some more _intimate_ TIVA moments--just a warning.

Okay, enough cryptic messages and hints—on with the show!

* * *

Ziva sighed as she pulled up outside the familiar bar. She shut off the engine and leaned back in her seat, leaving the keys in the ignition, and letting her head hit the headrest with a small bounce.

'_What the hell am I doing?_' she asked herself for what had to have been the tenth time since she got the late-night call. She grunted and started the car, intent on leaving the lot, the bar, and the drunken fool waiting inside to his own devices. _He is a big boy, Ziva—he got himself into this situation and he can get himself out of it._

But she froze with her hand on the gear shift. Her foot on the brake was the only thing keeping her in the lot and at the moment she was wavering in her convictions. _Or you could be the bigger person and help your partner, Ziva_, said a more reasonable voice inside her head.

"No," she said aloud, as she pulled out of the parking space at the far side of the gravel lot. "It is your bed, Tony, and God knows you know how to sleep in it…" But as she threw her right blinker on to turn out of the lot, she sighed again, shook her head in resignation, and circled back around to her original parking space. She shut the engine off once again, and resumed her earlier dismal position—slumped in the driver's seat of her car attempting to tamp down her overwhelmingly conflicting urges to both help _and_ hurt the man who had both helped and hurt _her_.

Ziva glanced up at the flashing neon sign of the bar, wincing as she caught the glare it caused on her windshield, right next to the distorted image of the car's digital readout reminding her what an ungodly hour it was. She took off her seatbelt, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply, allowing herself a moment to remember…and reflect.

"_This__ is where we are going, Tony?" she asked him, the tiniest bit of disgust and disbelief evident in her voice._

"_Don't sound too excited, Ziva," he replied, smiling, as he opened the door for her and helped her out of the car. He slammed it shut behind her and grasped her hand more firmly in his. "I know it doesn't look like much, but trust me—you'll love it. I promise," he said, winking and throwing her a 100-watt smile she couldn't resist._

_From the outside, the bar didn't look like much—red brick façade faded by time and the weather with large stain glass windows and a heavy but ornately finished door. There were a few banners advertising specials, deals, and weekly gimmicks, as well as a two large signs—one, tall and yellow with removable black letters, and the other a blazing neon sign that read __**Donnie's Pub**__ in large old English lettering. _

_She smiled crookedly, shook her head despite herself, and gave a little chuckle. "Well, if you __promise__…I suppose I'll just have to trust you."_

"_Milady," Tony said, offering his arm by way of escort._

_She grasped his proffered arm at the elbow and bowed her head obligingly. They were both wearing broad smiles when they crossed the threshold into the bar, Tony holding the door open for Ziva ever-so-chivalrously. _

_The outside may have looked unremarkable, but once she was inside, Ziva began to understand the promise Tony had made her. Upon entering the pub Ziva assessed her surroundings, taking in the homey feeling it evoked. The bar itself was to the right of the door, spanning nearly the entire length of the establishment. It was a virtually flawless mahogany, stained a dark and rich brown that practically glistened in the glow of the old stone fireplace and hearth that blazed to the left of the door across the room. _

_As soon as Ziva stepped into the tavern she could feel the heat from the flickering flames wafting towards her, and when she looked above the bar, to the neatly lined glasses that hung upside down, she could see the flames flickering in reflection. The stone fireplace made up nearly half the left wall, and separated the bar and tables from the cozy, intimate, booths carved from the same rich mahogany as the bar. There were several small round tables—each with three chairs—all made from the same wood as the bar scattered around a beautiful billiard table right in the center of the main room. _

_From the doorway she could just make out the dart board that peeked out from the other room on the far wall—as well as the celebratory exclamations from the men gathered around it. Finally, in the center of the main room was a brilliant old lighting fixture with yellow glass that complimented the light from the fireplace in a most comforting manner. It felt safe—safe and warm. And Ziva couldn't help the tiny smile that began to tick her lips upwards. Tony smiled as well as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. "I think that's a solid 'I-told-you-so' if ever I saw one."_

"_I admit," Ziva said, smirking, "It does have…charm."_

_Tony chuckled, happy with himself. _

"_Well, will ye look at what the cat dragged in!" said a booming and seemingly Irish voice from behind the bar. "Who said ye could bring yer scraggly ass in here again, DiNozzo?"_

_Tony removed himself from Ziva's grasp and made his way towards the bar with a very fake swagger. "Oh, yeah? What's it to you, kid?" Ziva watched, curious, as Tony conversed with the man behind the bar in a teasing manner. The man in question was by no means a 'kid.' With white hair, wrinkles, and a pronounced limp, there was obviously more to the story than just the obvious. _

"_Gotta keep out the varmints, vermin, and like." Tony spun around in a circle rather quickly, making the man smile a little and nod. "Don't see a tail on ye yet, though. So I s'pose yer still good fer a drink, ye little punk." The man waited a moment and then smiled and swung his hand out towards Tony's in very manly handshake. _

"_How ya doin', Donnie?" Tony said, a full-fledged smile now gracing his face._

"_Leg's a little sore but otherwise I can't complain." He barked out a laugh. "Well, I s'pose at my age I __could__, but it'd be ungentlemanly of me," he said, nodding in Ziva's direction._

_Tony smiled and looked back at Ziva, holding out his hand for her. She sidled up next to him quite gracefully and smiled charmingly. "Donnie, I'd like you to meet someone very special. Ziva, this is Donnie Kidd—"_

"—_Owner and barmen of the fine establishment ya see in front er ya, milady," he said, interrupting Tony, taking Ziva's hand in his, and bringing it to his lips. "Pleasure," he said, inclining his head with a smile._

_Ziva smiled brilliantly and did the same, "Charmed."_

"_Ziva, is it?" Donnie asked._

_She nodded. "It is."_

"_Well, Ziva, humor an ol' man, won't ya, and tell me—what's such a fine lookin' woman as yerself doin' with a sorry sight like __this__ one?" he asked, motioning with his head to indicate Tony._

_Ziva smiled evilly and leaned in conspiratorially, "I ask myself that all the time, Donnie…"_

"_Ookaayy," Tony said, his voice an octave or two louder than usual. "Thank you, friends, for the kind words and encouragement. __Gosh__, with friends like these…" he said, trailing off with a humorous demeanor._

_Ziva laughed and patted him on the stomach. "Pace yourself, Tony. You already have __plenty__ of enemies." _

_Tony sighed dramatically and threw his arm around Ziva, bringing her into his side before smacking her on the butt with an audible 'thwack.' She startled. "Thanks ever-so-much, Sweetcheeks," he said grinning._

_Donnie raised his eyebrows in contented surprise and Ziva turned to give him a death-glare that shut Tony right up. "Right, then," Tony said, his voice a little squeaky, "How about a couple of beers, Don?"_

_Donnie chuckled heartily and pulled two bottles from below the bar, wiping them off and popping them open. "Oh, Tony," he said amidst booming laughter—winking at Ziva as he passed them their beers—"That one there's a keeper!"_

"_So, how do you know Donnie?" Ziva asked a while later, as the two sat huddled together in a booth in the far corner, feeling the flames of the fire from both sides._

"_After I transferred from Baltimore PD to NCIS, I used to come here to blow off steam after a hard day," he began, taking a pull from his beer. "I was getting to know the lay of the land, the people—"_

"_The women…" Ziva guessed, smirking, and taking a pull from her own bottle._

_Tony ignored her. "Donnie used to be a Metro PD Detective before he got hurt—shot in the leg—"_

"_Hence the limp," she inferred, and he nodded._

"_When they made him choose between riding a desk or retirement, he chose the life of a barman. He opened this place and it became a local watering hole for cop-types after their shifts."_

"_It is very beautiful in here," she said, looking around yet again. _

"_I __told__ you…" he said, getting very close to her and dropping a kiss onto her lips._

"_You did indeed." She smiled up at him. "I bow down to the master," she said dramatically._

"_Well, thank you, milady," he said, with a gallant sweep of his hand, making her laugh. Then he sobered. "And thank you for coming with me—meeting Donnie," he said, inclining his head towards the bar's general direction._

_She looked at him seriously, kissed him again, a little longer this time, and then looked him in the eyes, "Thank you for bringing me," she said honestly._

Ziva opened her eyes and looked out at the **Donnie's Pub** sign with a pang of regret and nostalgia—and loss. She sighed and shook her head. "Damnit, Tony," she said to no one in particular. Then before she could lose her nerve she pulled the keys from the ignition and heaved herself from the car, trekking with long and purposeful strides across the lot, gravel crunching beneath her boots.

When she got to the heavy wooden door she took a deep breath and attempted to center herself before gripping the large, smooth handle and pulling hard.

It smelled and felt just the same. The fire still flickered away in the hearth, catching the glasses above the bar; the clink of the balls on the billiard table were still so soft they were almost sensual; and Donnie was still there behind the bar, a rag tossed over his left shoulder as he poured shots to a couple of off-duty cops at the end of the bar.

She took a few steps forward and Donnie looked up, nodding to her in greeting and then back behind her towards a mass of what passes for human these days nearly passed out in a booth in the corner—their booth; their corner.

She could hear Donnie's uneven footsteps as he came up beside her. "Came in 'ere a little over an hour ago, long-faced and sullen—bit rude too if ye ask me. Downed four JDs quicker than I e're did see him before. When he ordered the fifth I thought it'd be best for someone ter come get 'im—lest I send 'im home in a cab." He paused a moment and put his hand comfortingly on her shoulder. "Thought of ya, lass," he said, smiling. He shook his head as a look of confusion passed over his face. "Kept sayin' sometin' 'bout his car explodin'." He chuckled bitterly. "I have ter admit—I didn't quite understand that one!"

"Thank you, Donnie," she said, forcing the words out as calmly as possible. "I will take care of it."

She took a step towards him when she heard Donnie's voice behind her. "It's good ter see ya again, lass. I dare say ya owe me a game 'o darts in the near future…"

Ziva turned and gave the old man a warm smile, remembering for a moment, how it felt to feel so safe here with Donnie's gentle voice and personality, and…Tony. She walked back to Donnie and gave him a soft peck on the cheek. "I missed you as well, Donnie."

Donnie nodded and made his way back to his post behind the bar as Ziva made her way to the back corner booth. Tony wasn't passed out—that much was working towards her benefit right now. He was, however, _very, very_ drunk. He kept staring into his drink, alternating between taking a tiny sip and swirling it around and around in the tumbler. His eyes were glassy and his movements were sluggish, and if her eyes were not deceiving her—_his_ eyes were…red-rimmed. _Oh, Tony_, she thought, her heart breaking at the sight of him.

* * *

It took her twenty minutes, a lot of hand-holding, and more restraint in holding her tongue than she'd ever had to endure before, but she got him into her car. She rolled down the passenger window to get him some fresh air, but he was so out of it that his head just lolled out the window like a dog with its tongue stuck out. Ziva shook her head and sighed for what must have been the hundredth time that night. _At least he can't say anything about my driving_, she thought idly before giving a bitter chuckle.

She thought about how she was going to get him into his apartment for a few moments before she decided that she _wouldn't_ be able to—there were just too many doors and too many floors to wrangle his ass manageably. She sighed, resigning herself to the fact that it would be easier to take him to her first floor duplex. _Oh, no, not complicated at all, Ziva_, she scolded herself—but there was no other logical choice. Not unless she wanted to dump him in the vestibule of his apartment building…and even _she_ would not be so cruel and crass—no matter what crimes he was guilty of in her opinion.

He was in that not-wholly-passed-out-but-definitely-not-making-any-of-his-own-decisions-right-now stage of intoxication that allowed her to guide him with _almost_ relative ease up her steps, into her apartment, and into the bathroom before he began to heave his guts up in her toilet. He had already removed his tie and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt by the time she'd found him at _Donnie's_. _God only knows what he has done with them, however._ She took off his jacket and hung it on the back of the door before removing his shirt completely.

While he regurgitated the contents of his stomach in the bathroom, she took the shirt to the kitchen and began to scrub it out with a spot-stick and scrub-brush before hanging it on a hanger in the hall outside the bathroom. She put his jacket on another hanger and left it with the shirt before grabbing a set of towels from her linen closet—with _two_ washcloths.

She returned to the bathroom, placed the towels on the hamper, and plucked up one of the washcloths to run under the cold water. She sat on the edge of the tub as Tony leaned against the vanity next to the toilet, clearly in pain and only at an intermission. Still, she gently patted his forehead down with the cool water before wiping his mouth and rinsing out the washcloth before repeating the process several more times as more and more alcohol was purged from his system.

Somewhere around the forty minute mark he seemed to regain some sense of self-awareness and looked at her as she finished wiping his face and mopping his brow. "Why are you doing this?" he asked seemingly baffled as to the source of her kindness.

She just looked at him for a moment and said, "Because." And she said it with such sincerity that he sniffled once, took a ragged breath, and nodded his understanding, concern, and thanks—all in one motion. And she nodded too. It was enough, for now; she'd help him tonight, and they'd work up to the conversation they each knew they'd have to have eventually. Just not tonight.

"Can you stand?" she asked, and he nodded, carefully getting to his feet with Ziva's assistance. "A shower is probably your best bet, Tony." She hesitated. "Can you…? Do you…?" She was stumped. _Exactly how does one ask her ex-whatever if he requires assistance bathing himself?_

He swayed on his feet a bit, but he understood. "Just…help with the shoes, okay?" he asked gently. She nodded and removed his shoes and socks, placing them in the hall before returning to turn on the shower, check the temperature, and close the curtain. She pointed to the towels on the hamper and he nodded his understanding before she made her way out the door. "Ziva?" he called to her, and she spun around towards him, a little hopeful despite her best attempts to tamp down any and all emotion. "Clothes?" he asked, his voice monotonous and betraying no emotion whatsoever—something over which Ziva envied him greatly.

"Yeah," she said, nodding, and making her way back towards her bedroom. She pulled open the bottom drawer and plucked out a pair of Tony's sweatpants that he'd left here and she'd never given back. She clutched them to her chest and sighed for a moment, thinking to herself that this was quite the situation. She normally only pulled these out when she was feeling particularly masochistic—it was strange to have an actual purpose for them now. She chose an old NCIS t-shirt of Tony's—one of many that he'd gifted her with for 'lounge-wear'—and a pair of socks that would fit him. _I don't have any of his boxers anymore_, she thought to herself with a little laugh. He did laundry so infrequently that she thought it cruel to _not_ give _those_ back. She folded it all neatly into a bundle, put a small bottle of aspirin and bottled water on top, and made her way back to the sounds of the shower spray in her bathroom. She opened the door a little bit, her intent to leave them on the vanity, but she forgot about the squeaky hinge and nearly jumped when it gave away her presence—no matter how benign it was. "They're on the vanity, Tony," she said quickly before high-tailing it back to safer ground.

_Safer ground?_ she thought bitterly, as she slumped down on the couch, shaking her head miserably. _There's no such thing anymore,_ she thought dismally before succumbing to the sleep that she so desperately needed.

The dream grabbed her faster than usual—most likely the stress of the past few days combined with her overwhelming exhaustion. She wasn't watching tonight; tonight she was _doing_.

_Ziva waited at the top of the stairs, listening intently to the goings-on below. Her brother had arrived as Gibbs had expected—he was a traitor and a murderer. She felt a sudden cold invade her body and rush through her veins. She felt an overwhelming hate rage from a ball in her stomach and spread out until it felt as though she was consumed by it._

_By evil. _

_All of a sudden she was watching the picture below her. She saw her brother and the evil look in his eyes—the crazy tone in his voice. "I want you to know I wish I hadn't had to shoot Caitlin…My father. You have the misfortune of reminding me of the bastard." The hate raged anew as it controlled her body against her will. "He never knew how much I hated him. I wish I could see his face when he realizes he created not a mole but a monster eager to strike at the heart of Mossad and Israel." _

_She tried to resist—tried to stop it—but her fate was sealed. She felt tears fall on her cheeks as she raised her gun and leveled it at her brother. "Sorry to spoil your—" BANG! He wasn't expecting it…he never was—just like that day. He wasn't expecting his sister to betray him—to murder him. _

"_It's going to be just sweet watching you die."_

"_Watching you die."_

"_Watching you die."_

"_You die."_

"_Die."_

"_Die."_

"_Die."_

"_Die."_

"_Die."_

_BANG!_

Ziva's eyes opened with a ragged exhalation of breath followed by a series of heavy breaths in and out. Her eyes looked around wildly, trying to figure out where she was and what she was doing there; what the day was and what time it was as well. She sat up slowly and took in the scene that was her living room. The clock on her wall said 4:12 am.

She brought a shaky hand to her forehead in an attempt to calm herself down. She took another look around and found that she'd been covered with a blanket and that her boots had been slid off and tossed on the ground. She looked to her left and saw that Tony was passed out next to her, snoring loudly and pretty much dead to the world. _At least he's breathing_, she thought mindlessly as she attempted to get her bearings.

Ziva straightened her boots and put them by her front door. Then she went to the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face and decided to hop into a quick shower as she was now covered in sweat from her nightmare. She brought Tony's jacket and shirt into the bathroom and hung them on the back of the door, along with the pants she plucked from the bathroom floor so they could benefit from the steam before hopping in and scrubbing every inch of her skin and then washing her hair thoroughly. When she was done, she threw her clothes in her hamper, wrapped herself in her robe and pulled her hair back in a ponytail.

As she made her way through the living room she saw that Tony had spread out on the couch and made himself more comfortable, though, there was no way he could actually _be_ comfortable on that thing. Even _her_ back was a little sore from sleeping on it for just a few hours.

She pulled on sweats and long sleeved knit shirt, pulled down the covers and slid in between the sheets, almost sighing in blissful comfort. But the moment her head hit the pillow she thought of Tony lying out on the couch, already suffering from his bender the night before and thought about offering him the other side of the bed. Then she thought better of it—_what kind of message would that send? It could get uncomfortable…yes, better to leave things as they are._ So she settled back into her warm, comfortable bed, and closed her eyes. _He did take off my boots and cover me with a blanket. And I suppose it was nice of him to __not__ just lie down in __my__ bed…though one would call that common decency…_ She debated with herself for a moment or two, teetering between allowing him in the bed and keeping him at a safe and confusion-free distance before she came around to the sight of him so broken and sad in the bar tonight. She sighed, both in her head and out loud, and threw the covers back on her side as well as on—the other side—before trotting out to the living room.

His hair was tussled from the shower and the time spent on the couch. He looked like a little boy in the way his facial features softened while he slept, and it melted a tiny bit of Ziva's heart to see him like that again. Against her better judgment she reached out to run her fingers through his hair like she used to do so often…before. It was just like she remembered—soft, close enough to his scalp to be warm, and utterly Tony in the way it fell _right_ back into place. But he smelled like her right now and not his own tangy-smelling shampoo. _He used mine_, she remembered.

He twitched a little in his sleep, her touch having jostled him a little. She smiled at the way his nose crinkled, relaxed, and then twitched before he fell back into a motionless slumber. She bent down to a crouch and laid a hand on his shoulder, shaking him just a little. "Tony…" He grunted a little so she shook him a little harder. "Tony," she said again, a little louder this time. He groaned again but didn't wake. _Stubborn-ass_, she thought to herself. _I try to do him __another__ favor and, of course, he makes it all the more difficult. Typical DiNozzo._ "Tony!" she said a little more urgently.

"Ah!" Tony groaned, falling off the couch and shaking his head in an effort to gain some clarity. Big mistake. "Ohhhh," he groaned as he cradled his now aching head. "Well-done, DiNozzo," he said aloud to himself. "Ah…" When the room stopped spinning he looked up and around him to try to place what had woken him. Spotting Ziva hovering over his head sent Tony crashing back to earth…with his memory. "Ohhh," he moaned his voice croaking as the haziness lifted from his fuzzy brain. He closed his eyes tight and stretched out his mouth, which felt like it had been used to store cotton. "I don't want to go to school today, Mom," he said, his voice sounding as if his throat were made of sandpaper.

Ziva crossed her arms and tapped her foot in distaste, a most unhappy expression dancing across her features as she looked down at him. To Tony, looking up from the floor, Ziva was upside down…and very tall. _That's not a good look_, he thought, cautiously. "Are you finished?" she asked testily.

Tony swallowed hard. "Yes, ma'am," he said, defeated and altogether too tired, sore, and achy to bother coming up with something cute or sophomoric.

"Alright, then," she said professionally. "The other half of the bed is yours if you want it." Then she nodded once, turned on her heel and disappeared inside her bedroom.

Tony only had one thought as he hauled himself up off the floor as gently as possible. _I really don't deserve her…_

**You know the drill by now people. Let me hear you if you love TIVA!!!**


	14. Pretending to Be, Alright?

**Title:** Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

**Author:** ChelseaDaggerCinderella

**Summary:** Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

**Author's Note:**

Okay, just a friendly reminder that this chapter is a little bit more, um, _mature_ than the others have been thus far. I didn't go crazy or anything, but let's just say that those of you who were in TIVA-withdrawal should be _very_ happy…kind of.

Also, I should warn everyone that this chapter is a little Jeanne-heavy toward the end—so have your vomit bags ready.

Enjoy!

* * *

Tony climbed into bed gingerly, both for his own benefit as well as for Ziva's. She was on her right side facing away from him as he lay on his back with his hands behind his head, the feel of the bed utter heaven to his tortured body. He was still a little foggy as to the details of the evening--the _how's_ and _who's_ of the past six hours—but he was pretty sure he had the gist of it.

He'd left the office as soon as he could, grabbed a cab and directed the guy behind the wheel to _Donnie's_ easily. He was in a foul mood when he arrived, that much he remembered, but the rest of his time spent there was lost in a haze of whiskey. He remembered something about Ziva maneuvering him into the car, and then he remembered puking…a lot. But his first real moment of lucidity was realizing that it was _Ziva_ who was taking care of him when he couldn't even take care of himself. He honestly couldn't believe that after all he'd done—all the lies he'd told, secrets he'd kept and pain he'd inflicted—she'd come to collect his sorry ass in the middle of the night and then help him back on his feet.

_But that's Ziva—surprising you just when you think you've got her all figured out…_he thought to himself with a small smile and a tiny pang of regret. Ziva truly did amaze him sometimes.

He turned his head to the right to look at her, bringing his arms down from beneath his head, and turning slightly to the right to get a better look. Her breathing was very steady and equally spaced. _Too__ perfectly spaced_, he thought to himself wryly, also noticing that she _wasn't_ snoring. "Faker," he accused quietly.

"Merely wishful thinking, Tony." She didn't move one inch, nor open her eyes. "I suggest that you follow my lead…and go to sleep."

He nodded, though she couldn't see it, and settled down on his right arm, mirroring the position of his bed partner out of old habit. He watched her for a few more moments before closing his eyes, very aware of the cavernous space between them—both literally _and_ emotionally. "Thank you, Ziva," he said simply.

She opened her eyes for a moment and swallowed hard, fighting the urge to turn towards him, or lean back into him. "Goodnight, Tony," she said, and they both finally managed to drift off to sleep.

* * *

Tony was dreaming—no, better than dreaming, Tony was remembering.

_Tony trailed his finger along the raised skin on Ziva's side in a slow sensual caress. Ziva wriggled a little and gave a small laugh. "What?" he chuckled with a big smile, not diverting his attention from the tiny scar._

_Ziva smiled from her position on her stomach, her arms folded beneath her head, her eyes closed. "Your hands are cold."_

_Tony laughed again and allowed his cold fingers to drift down her side towards the small of her bare back. She squirmed again but didn't protest. Tony's fingers danced gently all over her back, twirling in small repetitive circles that were slowly but surely torturing Ziva. She let his name slip from her lips, her attention to admonish him but instead, it came out more of a moan. Tony grinned evilly before diverting his fingertips back up towards the original focus of his tactile investigation. "Hm," he muttered—his tone contemplative. _

_Ziva cracked one eye, playfully skeptical. "What does that 'hm' mean exactly?"_

"_Well," he began, tracing and retracing the mark, "I'm imagining the unbelievably numerous ways in which you might have received this rather fierce wound."_

"_Oh, I see," she said, playing along. "Yes, Tony, I see how your thinking so hard about something would trouble you…seeing as how you have such limited ability to contemplate more than one thing at a time. Deeply troubling indeed."_

"_Huh," he said, clucking his tongue. "All right then." He moved his very cold hands __very__ far below the sheets, making Ziva jump in surprise._

"_Tony!" she shrieked, wriggling in his strong grasp in an attempt to escape his frigid digits. She kicked her legs out, hoping to leverage herself out of his grasp, or at least get out from beneath him._

"_Oh no you don't," he said, capturing her legs with his own, effectively trapping her beneath him. He gathered her wrists and held them above her head. His grip wasn't tight—he wasn't trying to keep her there against her will—so she didn't fight it. They'd both long ago learned to just give in to the other in such situations—as physical force used between the two could get __very__ serious __very__ quickly. So he pretended to hold her wrists there against her will and she pretended to fight his hold. _

"_Tony, let me go," she said semi-serious._

"_I'm sorry, what did you say? I'm having trouble processing your request as thinking about more than one thing at a time isn't really a strong suit of mine," he said cheekily._

"_Okay, I admit, that may have been a stretching of the truth. Now let me up!" She tugged against his hands but he didn't release them, so she stayed where she was. "Tony…" she admonished._

"_A stretching of the truth, huh? I'm sorry, council, but that defense is not acceptable. I'm afraid I'm going to have to hold you in contempt, Officer David."_

"_Tony—" she started, but he cut her off, leaning his head down to her ear._

"_That means there's gonna be a little punishment…," he whispered to her. Every thought Ziva had had only a moment before was suddenly wiped from her mind as her entire body shuttered in unexpected delight…and anticipation. As Tony moved her wrists to his left hand, he brought his right hand slowly down her side to her a much more tortuous place, effectively making her breaths hitch and her breathing ragged at best._

"_Tony…" she moaned with almost no breath at all, which made her moan come out more like 'Toh-nee.' _

_Her eyes were closed, her mouth hanging open, her head thrown back in bliss. Tony grinned to himself. _Now we'll see who can't do two things at once, _he thought evilly._ _He brought his lips down to the spot at the juncture of her neck and shoulder and gently bit, enticing another moan of pleasure from her. His fingers danced beneath the sheets sending her into a spiral of nonsensical thought. _Perfect_, he thought. _

"_Ziva?" he asked, purposefully whispering to fuel her already heightened state. She made some non-committal noise in response. He made his way back up to her face and hovered right by her ear, pressing a feather-light kiss to her lobe in concert with a decisive move of the fingers of his busy right hand. She moaned again. "How did you get that scar, Ziva?"_

"_Whhhaaaat?" she moaned at an almost inaudible decibel._

"_The scar," he said, kissing the bit of bare skin in question. He flicked a finger. "How did you get it?" Another flick, another moan. _

"_Tony…" she whispered._

"_That's it, Ziva," he whispered. Flick. "Just tell me how it happened…" Flick. "…and you'll get my __undivided__ attention," he said, emphasizing the point he was making by kissing the scar again in concert with another flick of his fingers. _

"_Tony…"_

"_Almost there, Ziva…"_

_She licked her lips as a look of determined concentration crossed her face. She was trying to put together any string of sounds that he'd understand—lost as she was in her haze of pleasure. "Went through a window…four…" she gulped and took a heaving breath, "…years ago."_

_He kissed her again and flicked another finger. "Tripped?" he asked, already pretty sure of the answer, but using any excuse to prolong the adventure._

_She shook her head back and forth—really more of a thrashing than a shaking at this point—"Throwwwn."_

"_Ah ha," he said._

"_Tony…" she breathed, her tone pleading. Tony grinned wide and with a final flourish of his hand he sent Ziva spiraling over the edge, practically screaming his name as her body quaked beneath his._

_He kissed her lips hard, just shy of bruising. "One thing at a time my ass," he muttered._

_She laughed evilly and moved quickly, kicking out her legs and flipping them so she sat atop him in the seat of power. She grabbed his ass and squeezed as they rolled. "And what a cute one it is too…" she said. She kissed him quickly and he caught site of a dangerous gleam in her irises as she leaned down to whisper in his ear. "My turn…my little hairy-butt."_

"_Oh, boy," he purred before her lips crashed down on his._

* * *

A little after eight in the morning, Ziva stirred from her sleep, not entirely rested but incapable of spending anymore time in that bed. As gently as possible she slipped from the between the sheets and grabbed her robe from where she'd thrown in the night before. She hung it on the back of the bathroom door and set the water to running while she set up the coffee maker in the kitchen and started it perking. She trotted back down the hall to the bathroom. Peeking in on Tony and hearing him snoring soundly, she ducked into the bathroom, shucked her clothes and hopped in the shower. She grabbed her loofah and lathered up with her body wash, relishing in the feel of the hot water and the solitude.

She'd had a restless night. Between the torqued-up tension of sleeping in the same bed as Tony and her apprehension and anxiety about her night terrors she just wasn't able to allow herself to relax enough to let sleep overtake her for any _truly_ rejuvenating period of time.

She rinsed off, shut off the water, and wrapped herself in her thick robe before applying lotion to her arms and legs. She cracked her neck and stretched out a bit before exiting the bathroom to make herself a cup of coffee, stopping short when she found Tony already seated in her kitchen with his own mug ensconced in his hand. "Oh," she said, purposefully clutching the folds of her robe together to cover her surprise. She cleared her throat and turned towards the coffee maker. "Good morning," she said, pulling her mug down from the cabinet above her head and filling it.

"Morning," he said throatily, still recovering from his graphic but not unpleasant dreams.

She turned around to face him, leaning on the kitchen counter, her hands wrapped around the warmth of her coffee cup. "How are you feeling? Any better?"

"I've had better days," he said cryptically, taking a sip from his mug. "But then again, I've had worse days, too, so, it's probably six of one," he drawled.

"Six of one?" she asked hesitantly.

"Uh," he stammered, "A toss-up; ya know, six of one is half a dozen of another." He shook his head self-deprecatingly, wholly un-amused with the way in which he was falling all over himself. "Sorry," he said, shaking his head weakly. _Get it together, DiNozzo; it was __just__ a dream, man. Not like you haven't had those before!_

"Not at all," Ziva said politely. "I am always looking for new American colloquialisms to massacre, am I not, Tony?" she said with a wink and a smile.

He laughed outright at that, grateful for the break in the tension. "Yeah," he agreed, smirking at her. "It's right on the _honey_," he said, intentionally screwing it up to poke fun at her.

She just shook her head, smiled, set her mug on the counter, and made her way back to her room to change. "I'll be back," she called.

"I'll be waiting," he replied cockily, taking another sip of coffee.

* * *

Ziva closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, composing herself. _Get it together, David!_ She took a few deep breaths to collect herself and then set about making the bed, straightening the room, and pulling out clothes to change into.

She pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail and then thought better of it, braiding it so that it was shorter and a little bit cuter. _Cuter?!?! Ugh!_ She was a little disgusted with herself but she kept on going about her routine. She applied a small amount of makeup, pulled on black cargo pants with a white long-sleeve knit top and slid on her more functional hiking boots, lacing them up quickly and securing them tightly. She spared one look over her shoulder towards the mirror, and nodded to herself in approval before strapping her Sig onto her hip along with her badge.

When she came out she found Tony dressed in his suit from the day before. The steam had helped some but he still looked as though he had slept in his clothes. _At least the shirt didn't stain_, she thought idly, glad she'd put in the time and effort to scrub it last night.

He put his arms out, indicating that he was up for inspection. "Not my best…" he said, trialing off.

"But not your worst, either," she added with a wink. He gave a dry laugh and nodded in agreement. "Come on, Tony, I'll drop you by your apartment so you can change, and then I'll drive us both—"

"—Crazy?" he interrupted cheekily, almost instantly regretting it.

"…to work," she clarified stiffly.

He laughed uncomfortably. "Best not to look a gift horse in the mouth, huh?" She arched a dangerous eyebrow in response and he laughed awkwardly again, slapping his hands together nervously. "See what I did there? I mouthed off when you were being perfectly kind, generous, and civil, and then I compared you to a horse." His nervous laughter increased, and Ziva almost smiled it was so amusing…almost. "That was very juvenile of me and I apologize," he said, still grinning like an idiot. "See?" he said, smacking himself on the back of the head.

"Car," she said, pointing towards the door, her keys in hand.

"Right!" He hurried to open the door for her and then stepped aside to allow her to lock it. "Want me to drive?" he asked, a little too chipper and smiley for her right now. She just glared. "Right, of course," he said immediately. "No problemo, Zee-vah…" _What the hell is the matter with me?!_ he thought to himself exasperated.

* * *

Gibbs closed the door to the conference room behind him as Tony took a seat in one of the cushioned, stiff backed chairs, leaned back, and entwined his fingers. The team leader turned around stiffly and threw a folder down on the table with a _slap_. "This gonna be a problem for you, DiNozzo?" he asked.

It was always hard to read Gibbs under _normal_ circumstances, but when the seasoned NCIS Special Agent went around inquiring as to the well-being of others—especially when the people in question were his team members—it was always a little disarming. On one hand, of course, Tony was glad for his concern (in a proud, manly way, of course), but on the other hand he was a little worried. Besides being a tad unnerved by Gibbs's inquiry, he was bitter that he had allowed the situation to come about in the first place.

_Why would I be all right, boss? I screwed up an undercover operation by becoming emotionally involved with my mark—a real testament to professionalism, after all. Add to that the fact that I'm relatively certain I've scarred Jeanne for life and that I may have seriously harmed my professional relationship with my partner by screwing up a __personal__ relationship that we shouldn't have ever had in the first place…of course I'm __NOT__ all right!_ Tony chuckled lightly and smiled wide. "Of course not, boss; 100% professionalism here," he said brightly.

Gibbs cocked an eyebrow and half-sighed as his bullshit meter registered a sky-high offense. He bent over the table, leaning into Tony as he would a suspect in interrogation, and flipped open the file he'd tossed there earlier. His index finger tapped slowly on the picture clipped in the corner opposite the photo of La Grenouille, drawing Tony's eyes to the smiling face of his one-time girlfriend. Gibbs was wearing his _no-nonsense-it's-time-you-level-with-me_ face. "You wanna try that one again, DiNozzo?"

* * *

Tony slammed his desk drawer with an angry show of force, not caring when Ziva and McGee looked at him strangely. He was angry—at himself, at the director, and unbelievably, at Gibbs. Like so much of his life as of late, Tony was torn. One part of him thought that Gibbs was being ridiculous and that after everything Tony had done and accomplished over the years, Gibbs should at the very least give Tony the benefit of the doubt when it came to the elder agent's misgivings about Tony's partiality. One the other hand, though, Tony was having a rather familiar crisis of faith.

When it came to his confidence in his abilities, doubt was something that Tony knew a lot about. It had _truly_ manifested when Gibbs quit all those months ago, and, Tony supposed, it had only grown and evolved since then. He knew _what_ to do; he knew procedure; he knew how to get information; and how to chase down a lead. He could interrogate, investigate, and shoot. Being an _agent_ was not the problem here, nor had it ever been the problem. No; Tony's problems stemmed from his self-doubt at being a _leader_—at being in charge or being the one that somebody else looked to. _And that pretty much goes for relationships as well (see romantic history from puberty onward)._

The truth was he _had_ screwed up—numerous times. The truth was that he pursued a forbidden relationship with his partner and team-_member_ while he was team _leader_; the truth was that he cared about her deeply and in many differing and complicated ways; the truth was that he let her get hurt so he could play _spy-boy_ with the Director; the truth was that he agreed to the _eyes-only_ assignment to prove to himself that he _could_ be the guy others counted on and looked to; and the truth was that when the director instructed him to pursue Jeanne, he'd screwed up yet again—and fallen for her. So now he had a mountain of _truths_ and absolutely no idea how to deal with them. And, of course, he now had Gibbs doubting his objectivity—and that made his blood boil.

All those times _he_ worried and fretted about his own possible short-comings was one thing; but hearing Gibbs voice even a fraction of those insecurities was infuriating—and a little heart-breaking. So Tony left the conference room and took it out on his desk, actively ignoring the looks passing between his two teammates, and desperately avoiding Ziva's all-knowing eyes.

"Ziva, McGee," Gibbs announced, rounding the corner, his coffee in hand, and his face expressionless. "Grab your gear; Abby found a lead on our bomb-maker—may lead us to an ID on our mystery corpse."

Ziva jumped up obediently, settled her gun on her hip, and slung her backpack over her shoulder, sparing only the barest of glances towards Tony. McGee scooped up his Sig and bag, plucked the file folder from Gibbs's hand and looked expectantly at him as his eyes cut towards Tony—who sat quietly seething. "Go!" Gibbs barked at the duo.

Ziva and McGee flew into action, scooting out of the bullpen and scurrying towards the elevator quickly. The bell for the elevator rang out and McGee stepped on. Ziva hesitated and looked back to Tony who was typing angry strokes on his computer as he ignored Gibbs's presence entirely. "Ziva!" McGee called as the doors began to close. They both stuck out their hands to stop the doors and as Ziva slid into the elevator Tony looked up. Their eyes met for just a moment and his stare was icy and filled with pain. Ziva recognized it well.

She made a small movement to go to him when she hesitated and caught herself. _It is not my place anymore…not nearly. And we are at work_, she rationalized. It was only a moment's hesitation, but it was enough. Tony saw her face change as the emotions played on her face…before it disappeared behind the metal of the elevator doors completely.

* * *

As if things weren't bad enough, Gibbs relegated Tony to writing up his final incident report detailing the sequence of events from the time at which Tony left NCIS until he returned with the Benoit family after the explosion. _Ziva and McGee out there working the field—trying to find a lead on the guy who tried to blow __me__ sky-high and into itty-bitties—and I'm stuck in here reliving the entire damned ordeal in excruciating detail._ If Gibbs weren't right there Tony would've started hitting, punching, slamming, and breaking things again; but of course, Gibbs _was_ right there—that was the point. _I may be an occasional screw-up, but I know when I'm being tested_, he thought to himself bitterly, unsure as to what he objected to more—being tested like a guinea pig, or Gibbs infantilizing him by thinking that Tony _wouldn't_ know what the hell was going on. _He's testing my resolve—and I'm not breaking this time_.

The bell to the elevator sounded and Ziva and McGee stepped out and strode into the squad room with grim faces. Ziva threw her things down next to her desk in a huff, upset that they hadn't found what they were looking for.

Tony narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw; keeping the many comments that came to the front of his mind locked up tight behind his grinding teeth and sealed lips.

McGee came to stand in front of Gibbs's desk. "Dead end, boss. When we got there the place was wiped clean. Ziva and I swept that place for over an hour and we couldn't even find a spec of dust let alone a print." Gibbs stood up abruptly.

"You're telling me there wasn't _anything_, McGee?" Gibbs asked, angry and incredulous.

McGee shook his head sadly. "Not a thing, boss."

Tony stood up to grab the pages of the freshly-printed report from the printer, stapling it together and sticking it in the proper file.

"We are back at square one, now, yes?" Ziva asked—a little dismal as she looked between the three men in front of her, wary of Tony's state of mind.

"Sounds like," Tony said softly as he slapped the report down on Gibbs's desk with a look that one who values his life should never send in the general direction of Leroy Jethro Gibbs. To Gibbs's credit, he ignored the look, shot one of his own towards Ziva, and motioned for McGee to follow him up to MTAC to brief the Director.

As soon as Gibbs was out of earshot Tony gave his desk a swift kick, spat a few obscenities, and shot Ziva a dirty look. "_What?!?!_" he growled.

_Okay,_ Ziva thought, hearing the proverbial _crack_ of the camel's back in her mind,_ I have had __enough__!_

* * *

Ziva grabbed Tony by the sleeve and then the ear, dragging him against his will towards the elevator and shoving him in. She hit the button for Abby's lab and turned on him. "_What_ is the matter with you, Tony?" she asked, in no mood to be toyed with.

He clenched his jaw together painfully. His teeth were gnawed together and he had this large grin on his face but it was not a pleasant one—it was horrible. It was the grin you put on your face when you want to curse the world for inflicting upon you the worst type of pain. Ziva knew the look well; it was an old friend.

He took in a ragged breath, his jaw still clenched. "I don't know," he said, finally, the words drawn out as if he were forcing them.

"Tony—" Ziva began, taking a step towards him; but she got no further.

"_Damn it_!" Tony roared. He spun and slammed his fist against the side of the elevator painfully. He pounded the wall one more time before Ziva hurriedly flipped the emergency halt switch in the elevator. The conveyance came to an abrupt halt just as Tony reared back to hit the wall again.

"_Tony_!" Ziva screamed, stopping him mid-movement. His shoulders slumped and his breathing quickened as he let what had just occurred wash over him. The dam had broken and the pain he'd been trying to overwrite and bury was very plain to see. Ziva was at a loss; she had no idea what to say to him right now. _Anything I said right now would be…inappropriate._ Would anything anyone said really help right now? Especially her? She didn't think she'd be able to make him feel better… and it was killing her.

He was slumped over at the waist, bracing himself against the wall of the elevator with both arms, and he looked…defeated. All she wanted to do at that moment was reach over and lay her palm against his back, her cheek against his back, and then slowly wrap her arms around his waist and hug him tightly. But she couldn't. Instead, there was a tense silence and Ziva could literally _feel_ Tony's melancholy as she stood behind him.

"You ever lie to someone you love, Ziva?" he asked, his voice so sad that it broke Ziva's heart.

It was a loaded question to begin with because of their history—and their not-so-history. _Do I tell him the truth? Will it do him any good? Will it do me any harm?_ "Yes," she said, nearly choking on the word as she spoke it.

He turned around slowly, leaned his back against the wall, and crossed his arms. "They ever forgive you?" he asked, his eyes drifting off into another world.

She laughed bitterly to herself inside her head. Her first answer was 'no'—she whole-heartedly believed that had Ari been able to tell her so, he would _not_ have forgiven her. Of_ course you would ask me this, Tony—the one thing I cannot tell you…or anyone. _"They never found out," she said. _I killed him before he could._

"Mine found out."

_Oh, Tony,_ she thought, wanting to say and do so many things. She wanted to reach out and comfort him, to say that she understood and that she was here; to tell him she knew how much he cared for Jeanne—and to yell at him for making such a grave error in judgment in falling for that girl. She wanted to scream at him for agreeing to do what he had and she wanted to beat him to a pulp for all the turmoil he'd put her through. _You let me think you were dying_, she wanted to yell at him. She wanted to do it all, but she couldn't—she just couldn't. So, she straightened her spine instead, and prepared herself to hear what she very much _didn't_ want to hear—because she recognized his need to talk to someone about this. "You told her everything?" she asked.

"I did," he nodded, and slowly, he began to tell her what had happened once he'd finally made it up to see Jeanne.

_Tony took a deep breath and opened the door to the conference room knowing that the conversation that awaited him on the other side was going to be by no means an easy one._

"_Jeanne," he said softly._

_She looked up from her perch by the window and ran to him, nearly knocking him down. "Oh, Tony, thank God," she said, her arms thrown around his neck. "They wouldn't tell me anything," she huffed. "No one will talk to me! Everyone I see just keeps saying to stay here. Here! Here where they won't tell me anything or answer any questions! I didn't know where you were, and they moved my father somewhere else and I didn't—"_

"_Hey," he said softly, untangling her arms and cradling her face gently. "It's okay, it'll be okay; you're safe now. Just take some deep breaths; it'll be okay." _

"_Tony, __what__ is going on? Where did you go? I mean, God that was your car that blew up— your car. That could have been you; it __should__ have been you." She was rambling now. "Everything that's happened today, and last night; the way you handled things…the gun. The gun—firing it the way you did, and now this!" She started hyperventilating a little and shaking her head. _

_Tony guided her to a chair and motioned for her to sit down. She went to speak but he stopped her. "Deep breath," he ordered, motioning for her to follow his advice by gesturing 'in-and-out' with his hands._

_It took her a minute or two to start breathing normally again. When she had, she put her head between her knees, her hands hanging down as well. "It's like you're some other person all of a sudden; someone I don't know."_

_Tony swallowed. He looked at her but he didn't say anything. _How do I even begin,_ he thought, finally deciding that silence was the best option. But to Jeanne, though, the silence spoke volumes._

_She looked up suddenly and shook her head angrily, a look of pure rage marring her European features. "You are, aren't you? __Aren't you!__ Someone else…" Once again, Tony remained silent, unable to even fathom how or what to tell her._ Except of course that I'm the world's largest bastard, _he thought bitterly_.

"_Who?" she asked angrily. He made a move to go to her but she pushed him away, batting at his hands. "__Who__ are you?!?!"_

_Tony swallowed hard and apologized to her a thousand times in his head. "My name isn't Tony DiNardo," he said, feeling the two selves he'd been trying so hard to keep separate suddenly merge all at once. _'God, what have I done?'_ "…It's Anthony DiNozzo. I'm a Federal Agent," he explained._

_She looked at him in horror, shaking her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. "No," she kept whispering over and over. "No…no…NO!" She screamed at him, raging wildly and nailing him with a hateful stare. "Why? __WHY__? Tell me why!"_

"_I work here," he said, motioning to the building. "For the Naval Criminal Investigative Service."_

"_The Navy?" she asked, not comprehending. "This has all been a lie," she realized. "A lie!"_

"_No, Jeanne," he said adamantly, moving towards her once again. "Not everything—just some things," he finished weakly. She shied away from him again, wrenching herself from his grasp as if he'd burned her. _ 'Who am I kidding? Why would she believe me after everything I've done?'_ But he pressed on anyway. "Not the important things," he stressed futilely._

"_Just tell me why!" she spat. "Why—what does—what do I have to do with the Navy? What am I supposed to have done? Why would you do this? Why me? Why?"_

"_It's not you," he explained. "You didn't do anything; it wasn't you that…" _I was after_, he finished silently—the grandeur of what he'd done slamming him full-force in the gut._ Damnit!

_She shook her head, angry, and in a blind panic. "Who? __Who__? Who, Tony? __Who__?" she hit him in the shoulder once, twice, three times. "Who!" She barreled into him in a rage and swung at him over and over again, demanding answers with each strike._

_Technically he should've made a move to grab her wrists, to stop her attack, but he didn't. He swung his arms out and enveloped her, trapping her hands in between them—stopping her all the same, but not as harshly as the detached self-defensive move that he should've used as per his training. "Jeanne, don't do this, please." She sobbed into him manically, and he stroked her hair, even as she continued to resist him. "My father; it's my father, isn't it?" she sobbed. "Isn't it?"_

"_You should ask him," he said plainly, still trying to comfort her. _'I'll never be able to comfort her again…not after this; not ever.'_ He held her close for as long as he could. It was his last hurrah and he knew it. Sometimes he wondered why out of all the women he'd gone out with—and there had been many—why it had been __this__ one who had made him feel so vulnerable and emotionally involved. Maybe it was because she was off-limits. If he knew in the end that there could be nothing, then he wasn't really falling and wasn't really committing. It was warped logic but it was all Tony had at that moment. "Ask him," he implored again as he planted a kiss to her head. "Just ask him," he pleaded. '_Because you'll never believe it if you hear it from me…not anymore. And not ever.'

_And then he let her go and left her in the conference room. He took one final look at her before he closed the door and said a silent goodbye to the woman Tony DiNardo fell in love with before Special Agent Tony DiNozzo closed the door on her…and the man he'd pretended to be._

**

* * *

Okay, so I have good news and bad news…and then some more good news. The good news is that I have eight chapters after this written, and I'm currently working on the ninth. The bad news is that I start school again tomorrow, which means that I'm going to have a lot less time to write—much to all our collective chagrin. **_**But**_**, the good news is that as of my current position in chapter twenty-three (what I'm writing now) I have over 100.000 words, and a number of story-arcs left in the story's timeline, so although my progress in actual **_**writing **_**may slow down, there is a lot left to look forward to—on both our parts. **

**I'm ecstatic that you're all still reading, and I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed the last chapter—you really helped to light a fire under me. Keep the reviews coming as they are most likely the only thing that can sway me from my homework and studies to writing the magnificent alternate lives of our favorite couple—Tony and Ziva.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	15. Aches and Pains

**Title:** Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

**Author:** ChelseaDaggerCinderella

**Summary:** Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

**Author's Note:**

Okay, guys, so in honor of my 21st Birthday today, I want all of us to celebrate with a brand new chapter! There is a whole slew of absolutely new storylines in this chapter and they're all starting the original storylines I have planned.

Be warned, there is a flashback inside a flashback in this chapter, so I hope that no one will get lost in all the time-travel… ;) I can't wait to hear what you all think!

Enjoy!

It had been three days since Tony melted down in the elevator with Ziva. Since then, Gibbs had kept him riding the desk, something with which Tony initially took great issue, but also something with which Tony eventually agreed with. If Tony had been out in the field following leads with McGee and Ziva, he would have wholly avoided the serious thinking he'd been afforded—more like forced, actually—the opportunity to do while sitting in the squad room day after day. It was like rapid detox. Yes, had he been allowed out in the field, he would have eventually worked through the landslide of thoughts and emotions that ran through his head—the keyword being _eventually_. But even Tony could see that Gibbs's benching him hadn't necessarily been the incredibly horrible punishment he'd originally thought it to be. That's not to say that it hadn't been an incredibly tumultuous and painful three days, but it had been productive—that much Tony couldn't possibly deny.

But he also couldn't deny that there was some serious tension building these days—between everyone. After the attempted assassination of Rene Benoit's daughter, the FBI had to cop to the credible threat that existed for the entire Benoit family; and seeing as how without the solid "sale" of ARES, the FBI has no case against the traitor Trent Kort, La Grenouille was the only person who could help to bring Kort to justice—just as soon as someone caught the sneaky bastard. As a result, Benoit got what he wanted in the end—blanket protection for his entire family, and that came in the form of the witness protection program, and _not_ in the form of unimaginable discomfort for the arms dealer locked away in a federal penitentiary.

After nearly a decade of chasing the man she believed to have killed her father, Director Jenny Shepard had been forced to release him into the custody of the FBI, where they would pack him and his entire family away in some cushy little life, away from the wrath of the justice system, and out of reach of the wrath of one Jennifer Shepard.

It allowed for a number of problems really. Firstly, it made for an extremely irritable NCIS Director. Secondly, it made for an icy atmosphere, especially when the Director was in the same general vicinity as Gibbs; she seemed to associate him with the deal that ruined her life, as he'd helped to facilitate the deal that Fornell had brokered with Benoit—so that made him 'undesirable number one' around here, which was interesting considering that he was holding a retaliatory grudge against _her_ for the way she'd manipulated the situation…and Tony. Thirdly, without Benoit out there to use as leverage or bait, the investigation into the bombing was left at a standstill as they'd run out of leads, clues, and bad guys. This meant, of course, that not only did they not have Kort in custody, but they had no leads as to his whereabouts, and most embarrassingly, they had no idea who had perished in Tony's car that day.

And, of course, there was still the situation between Tony and Ziva. It was awkward and very much _off-kilter_, for lack of a better word. They hadn't talked about what Tony had told her in the elevator and they hadn't addressed the gargantuan elephant in the room that had the words "The Conversation" spray-painted on it in neon green calligraphy.

And if all this weren't enough—"Give me a dollar!" Abby demanded of McGee as she barreled into the squad room—Abby was…going through something.

Tony and Ziva shared a concerned and quizzical look.

"Okay," McGee said, "What's wrong with that one?" he asked, gesturing to the dollar Abby already had in her hands.

"The machine wouldn't take it and I want a candy bar!" she announced stubbornly, almost angry that he'd asked the question at all.

_Wow, McGoo, just give the girl the dollar, you idiot,_ Tony thought, baffled as to why he seemed to be gearing up to grill her some more when it was clear Abby wasn't exactly…Abby.

"What's wrong with that candy bar?" he asked, completely ignoring both the signs of danger ahead, as well as Tony's silent warning.

_Uh-oh_, Tony thought, suddenly taken aback by Abby's sudden change in…everything.

"It has nougat in it!" she roared, looking for all intents and purposes as though she were about to maul him.

"What?" he continued to question, in his unending stupidity. "You hate nougat."

"I know!" she shouted at the top of her lungs, her voice cracking as though she either _had_ _been_ or was _about_ to cry. "It was a mistake, McGee! Do you have a dollar!?"

_It is like watching a lioness devour her prey_, Ziva thought in her head, completely puzzled as to what had sparked this…insanity…in Abby (and why McGee seemed so obtuse as to how to handle an obviously volatile situation)—and most importantly, she was absolutely clueless as to what this horrible nougat was.

McGee checked his wallet and shook his head. "All I have are big bills," he said finally.

"What is nougat?" Ziva asked.

Tony was in shock, his mouth hanging open a bit, and his voice filled with concerned mysticism. "It's whipped dolphin fat," he breathed softly by way of explanation.

Ziva nodded a bit but quirked an uncertain eyebrow up as she tried to process the new information in terms of the scene before her.

McGee shook his head at Tony, "No, that's the filling in Clownie Cake."

That just made Abby worse. "That is a _MYTH_!" she screamed, outraged and indignant—almost as if McGee had insulted her mother. She'd had enough, apparently, because that's when she snapped, stood smack-dab in the middle of the bullpen, and screamed at the absolute top of her lungs, "Would someone please give me a dollar?!"

You could hear crickets chirping in Tony's head as he stared at Abby, at a complete loss for any deductive train of thought. _Give dollar_, a voice in his head instructed. _Give dollar NOW._ "Sure, I've got one," he said calmly, holding out his hand, expecting to receive the dud of a bill from Abby in exchange—and finding himself out of luck, his mouth agape in shock as Abby left the bullpen.

"God, it's like some kind of crime to not like nougat…"

Ziva was still confused. "I don't even know what nougat is!" she demanded.

"It's a cream made from sugar, honey and nuts," Gibbs said, coffee in hand as he rounded the corner and plucked up his coat from his desk. "Grab your gear," he ordered, heading back out towards the elevators. "We have an explosion at a Marine's funeral in J. Hoover National."

McGee looked from one teammate to the other, his expression one of complete and utter astonishment. "Did anyone else see what just happened there with Abby?"

"Yeah," Tony said, a little bit bitter. "She stole my dollar…"

By the end of the exhaustive case very few things had changed. The Director was still bitterly punishing Gibbs, Gibbs was still none-too-thrilled with Jenny because of he viewed her treatment of Tony as taking advantage of the situation so that she could play out an international war game only to cry _foul_ when she ended up getting more than she bargained for. Additionally, Tony and Ziva still hadn't talked about anything that didn't include crime scene photos, evidence, or perps.

Abby had managed to begin moving past her own personal ordeal—with a little help from Gibbs—and it had given her a better perspective on the events of the past few months. Somehow, in the past five days she'd started to see her surroundings and the people in it more clearly. As a forensic scientist she was trained to find and suss out what others worked very hard at keeping secret. True, usually she was working with cold hard facts, science, and mass spectrometers; but that didn't mean that she was any less effective at her job when it came to live human beings and the lives they lead—especially when the humans in question were those closest to her.

The doors to Abby's inner lab opened as she stepped out into the main area, surprised but not unhappy to see Ziva crossing her threshold. "Still at work?" she asked, a small, hesitant smile playing on her lips, unsure in the face of Abby's recent mood swings.

Abby smiled, grateful to see the other woman now that she had figured a few things out—about herself and Ziva alike. "Yeah. I was just catching up on some things."

Ziva nodded politely and lifted the evidence bag she had, placing it on the table in front of her. "Cheek swabs." She took a step back and then cocked her head, a much bigger smile shining through now. "Hey, your music's back on," she observed, glad to see Abby back to her usual more perky self. "You're feeling good again?"

Abby made the _so-so_ gesture with her head, bobbing it a little from side to side and waving her hand to match the movement. "Maybe not good. Not yet," she clarified, nodding reassuringly. "But better. You know, um… sometimes a guy can get you all tied up inside?" she asked, a little apprehensive at broaching this particular topic with Ziva. _But Gibbs helped me,_ she reminded herself, plugging on regardless of her uneasiness at encroaching on the other woman's personal space and sense of security.

A slightly bitter look crossed Ziva's face as she thought about it with a mental shake of her head and a sigh as well. _Tied up, twisted up, and ready to strangle him, yourself, or anyone who gets in your way? I think I know something about that,_ she thought, a little bit edgier than she would have preferred in the face of her attempt to remain emotionally ambivalent. "Yes," she said simply, feeling uncomfortable with the direction in which the conversation was going.

Abby took a sympathetic step forwards and softened her tone. "And then you can't get the knots out…" she led knowingly.

Ziva swallowed hard, willing herself to remain calm, intact, and above all, emotionless. But it wasn't working. She kept flashing back to Tony and the way he'd been with her lately. _The way he's been since…No._ She shook herself out of her inner trance, desperately striving to stay away from those memories because they hurt too much. _Not hurt,_ she clarified for herself. _…Ache_. Regardless, she nodded again, her eyes downcast and as far from Abby's seemingly knowing stare as possible. "Yes."

"Well, it just really helped me to talk things out with Gibbs, you know, and unknot the knots."

_Unknotting the knots…how idyllic…and impossible, it seems._

"'Cause even if you don't let it show," Abby said, giving her a pointed stare, "…people can still tell." Ziva began to panic for a moment, but shook herself, not thinking that Abby could have known much about the situation at all. "So you know, if you ever want to talk about…"

Ziva looked up at her, surprised that Abby trailed off, as if she'd thought better of saying whatever it was she had planned on saying. "About…?" she prompted. Still, Abby hesitated. Ziva took a tentative step forward. "Abby?" she asked gently, now curious as to Abby's motivation.

Abby looked up and right into Ziva's eyes. "Tony," she said, her words confident and firm. "If you ever want to talk about you and…Tony, I'm here."

Ziva quickly launched into a denial, shaking her head, and working to brush off the idea as ridiculous; but Abby wasn't buying it. "_Ziva_," Abby said strongly, "I'm not trying to cause a problem or stir up trouble for either one of you. I just meant that…it helped…ya know, talking with Gibbs, and I figured that you probably don't have anyone you can talk to about _him_," she said, omitting his name in deference to the Mossad Liaison's nervousness. "But, you do; and I wouldn't ever tell anyone anything you didn't want anyone to know…or not know." She shook her head and motioned with her hands to forget that part. "I'm rambling, as I always am, but—I'm here, and if you wanna talk, then I wanna listen." Ziva didn't make any movement—a little too unnerved from the bombshell Abby had just dropped on her.

Ziva and Abby slapped their shot glasses back down on the bar at the same time, perfectly in sync after their second round. They both winced as the alcohol burned their throats on its way down. "Okay," Ziva said, her throat still a little bit on fire from the whiskey. "How did you find out?" she asked hesitantly, almost afraid of the answer she'd get in response.

"To be fair," Abby began, "I really don't know anything in terms of details or really anything pertaining to what may or may not have occurred. That isn't to say, of course, that I don't know that _something_ happened, cuz I may have been blind up till now, but there's no more wool over these babies," she said, motioning and referring to her eyes.

"So…you know nothing," Ziva extrapolated.

Abby shook her head vigorously, "Not nothing per se—just no details. Except that whatever has you both acting so awkward—"

"Abby," Ziva chastised, very much wanting to get to the point.

Abby sighed in response. "I know that something happened to make you both look at each other with eyes so sad it makes my sides hurt." That surprised Ziva, who shifted uncomfortably on her barstool. "I know that when Tony looks at you his eyes glaze over like he's getting high on just the image of you; and when he zones out after you've said something to him—well, let's just say that the head space into which he retreats seems to have your name written all over it…if those glazed looks are any kind of indicator."

Ziva licked her lips, feeling suddenly dizzy, and not from the alcohol, though it _had_ created a comforting _hum_ in her head, dulling the ache she'd been experiencing in her chest as of late. "Abby…"

"And I know that he's not the only one zoning out," she hinted pointedly. Ziva looked abashed. "Not that it's anything to be ashamed or embarrassed of, Ziva," she hurried on to say. "Just that—you wanted to know how I found out or what I knew; _that's_ what I know."

Ziva gave a bitter laugh as she realized exactly to what Abby was referring. It had been happening a lot in the past week—ever since the disastrous Benoit case blew up in _everyone's_ faces. Take lunchtime the other day for instance…

**It was McGee's turn to get lunch that day—for **_**all**_** of them, including Abby. He'd gone out to Umberto's to get subs and when he'd come back with the large bag of food everyone attacked him in a frenzy to feed their faces before the next crisis could arise and keep them from satisfying their growling stomachs.**

**Abby and McGee brought chairs over to sit in between Tony's and Ziva's desks, all four of them sitting together in a semi-circle, devouring their food as quickly as possible. In her haste, Ziva had gotten some tomato sauce on her upper lip and it had gone unnoticed; well, unnoticed by **_**her**_** at least. And then like **_**that**_** she was shot back in time to a place in her life where she was genuinely happy and content…**

"_**Come on—taste it!" he said, holding out a wooden spoon.**_

_**She smiled and politely redirected the taste-test. "I do not trust your cooking, Tony."**_

_**Tony bristled. "Ho-hum! Look who's a cooking snob, Miss—"**_

"_**Yes?" Ziva asked, stepping closer, a dangerous tone in her voice but a playful look in her eyes.**_

_**Tony swallowed hard and stammered, retracting his sauce-covered spoon and backpedaling. "See, when I said cooking-snob, I—well, I meant it in the **__**best**__** possible way, of course…"**_

"_**Of course," she agreed, stepping right into him and wrapping her arms around his waist. **_

_**Tony grinned and wrapped her in his arms. "Officer David, it seems you have other things on your mind besides insulting my cooking." **_

_**She nodded and reached around to the side to fiddle with his sauce. "I suppose you could say that, yes."**_

_**He bent down and lightly touched his lips to hers. She smiled into him and nipped at his lower lip. He growled playfully and then stuck on the very lip that had just been attacked before he pouted like a tiny puppy with big, round eyes. "You really won't taste my sauce Zee-vah?"**_

_**She chuckled and took the spoon from the pot, bringing it to **__**his**__** lips instead. He swallowed and licked his lips dramatically, kissing his fingers in the process. "Delizioso!" She put more in his mouth and then kissed him, locking her hands together behind his head. The spoon slipped from her fingers and landed with a small clatter…but neither noticed. Tony brought both of his hands up to encircle her face as the kiss intensified. Ziva let a small moan escape her lips as she strived to get closer to him though she knew there was no more space between the two to span. They were as close as two people—that is, two fully-clothed people—could get, and still they both pawed at the other, hoping to bring the other one in just a little bit more. Tony broke off first and inhaled deeply, leaning his forehead against Ziva's as they both took heaving breaths in symphony. Tony chuckled and swiped at the corner of Ziva's mouth with his thumb, sticking it in his mouth and sucking it with a 'smack-y' sound. "You have sauce all over your mouth, now." **_

_**She smiled and he swiped at her mouth again, but Ziva caught his fist with both hands and brought his thumb to her own mouth. As she licked off the sauce she allowed her tongue to devilishly torture him as she sucked and nibbled. A throaty moan escaped him as he moved to bring her back to him and replace his captured digit with his lips instead. They kissed again until Ziva broke off, returning to her previous agenda by placing tiny, torturous kisses all around his mouth, taking a nibble here and there. She placed small kisses along his jaw line, moving towards his ear, and dropped her voice an octave or two allowing her breath to tickle the tiny hairs there. "Mmm, you were right."**_

"_**Hm?" he asked, now completely distracted by her ministrations.**_

"_**Your sauce; it **__**is**__** quite…delicious." She gave a small yet wicked laugh as she felt him shiver in reaction to her.**_

"_**Okay, that's it," he said, as he scooped her up in his arms and carried her towards his bed.**_

_**She gave a huge laugh and smiled with her entire face, successfully lighting up her eyes in the process. "What about your sauce, Tony?"**_

_**He plopped her down on the bed and she landed with a bounce and an excited chuckle. "To hell with the sauce," he claimed seriously as he made his way towards her like a predator stalking his prey.**_

"_**Oh really?" she said, playing a particularly dangerous brand of coy as she straddled his waist.**_

_**He caught her in his grasp and flipped her over so he was on top of her. She laughed again as he raised her blouse and started placing sloppy kisses on her stomach. "I have other delicious endeavors to look forward to…"**_

"**Yo! Mossad-Girl!" Ziva jolted a little, having been startled from her thoughts and unsure as to who was addressing her. Tony waved his hand up and down in front of her face, the epitome of obnoxious behavior. "ZIVA!"**

"_**What**_**!?!" Ziva shook herself and tugged on the bottom of her shirt, a fire-red flash of heat making its way up her neck, making her a little self-conscious. "What?" she asked again, her voice more modulated this time.**

**Tony shook his head and smiled, laughing at her completely stricken face—no matter how hard she tried to conceal it from him. "I **_**said**_** you've got sauce on your mouth." He pointed to the corner of her mouth and wiggled his finger, winking in her direction before taking an obscene bite of his sandwich with the other hand—and nearly choking on it when he realized the implication of what he'd just done.**

**Inside the privacy of her head Ziva screamed and wanted nothing more than to run from the bullpen and completely douse herself in cold water. Then she would slap herself silly for allowing herself to be caught up in the foolishness of these daydreams down memory lane. **_**That highway is closed,**_** she reminded herself vehemently, but not without feeling that dull ache in her chest that had been such a frequent and unwelcome visitor as of late. She wiped her mouth, dumped the rest of her meatball sub in the trash and left the bullpen, making sure to avoid Abby and McGee on her way past them towards any destination that took her further away from the memories that she'd been working so hard to bury.**

**Tony just looked at her retreating form with regret. He could've kicked himself for not thinking before speaking…or doing. **_**Way to go, DiNozzo**_**, he self-scolded. **_**You just can't seem to stop inflicting suffering around here, can you?**_** He grabbed up his garbage can and spit out the contents of his mouth, the sandwich having turned rotten the second he realized his misstep. Then he thought better of it and tossed out the entire sandwich. He too had lost his appetite…**

"I'm _sorry_?" Abby squeaked, unable to comprehend what Ziva was telling her. "Wait! You're telling me it's been _months_?—_months _that I've noticed _nothing_?" Abby couldn't believe she'd been _so_ blind.

Ziva chuckled lightly but of course, it had her now all-too-often bitter edge to it. "Do not feel _too_ bad, Abby; we did work hard to keep it…concealed," she finished sadly before throwing back another shot.

A few moments of silence passed while Ziva wallowed and Abby considered how best to phrase what she wanted to say. "Ya know, there was a while there, where I thought that Tony would…well, that he'd end up with…with Kate." Ziva flinched and Abby pretended not to notice. "It's the same formula, I suppose; they were always together, harping on each other, sniping—but _relying_ on each other."

"Partners," Ziva supplied, her throat feeling very constricted at that moment.

"Yeah," Abby said. "He pretended to be her worst nightmare, and maybe to her he was, but he was protective of her…"

Ziva was getting _very_ uncomfortable hearing this for a multitude of reasons ranging from the fact that she didn't especially enjoy picturing Tony with someone else—or even discussing Tony's emotions about someone else—all the way to the tiny fact that Kate had died at Ari's hand, and _that_ fact, of course, reminded her that Ari had died at _hers_. "Abby…" Ziva started, trying to end this particular line of discussion.

"I _know_," Abby stressed. She knew this wasn't what Ziva wanted to hear, but there was something she definitely _needed_ to hear. "I know this isn't something you think you want to hear—"

"_Abby…_"

"—but there's a point Ziva—" Ziva took a deep breath, several in fact, and worked hard to collect herself before she motioned for Abby to continue—giving the observant Goth the benefit of the doubt. "—the point is that no matter how protective of her he was, no matter how much _I _pictured them together one day…he _never ever_ looked at her the way I've seen him look at you." Ziva looked up sharply, at a complete loss for words. "And he's an idiot for thinking that any mission the Director could give him would do more for him than you would."

Ziva just nodded very slowly, not sure that Abby's words—though kind and moving—had helped anything in the least. In fact, they seemed to make the ache in her chest throb all the more…

Can I interest anyone in reviewing?—I _**really**_ want to hear what you guys think about this chapter and any ideas, theories, or thoughts you have about where the story's going.

In the spirit of full disclosure, there is _**so much**_ left of this story to tell—I have _**big**_ plans for our duo and I hope you all will be as excited to read them as I as I am to write them.


	16. What Comes from Following Your Gut

**Title:** Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

**Author:** ChelseaDaggerCinderella

**Summary:** Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

**Author's Note:**

I want to thank you all for the great reviews and for the Birthday wishes I got—they were wonderful.

So, this chapter we start off in flashback, but by the end of the chapter…you all are going to be _very_ pleased.

Enjoy!

* * *

"_Are you going to tell me where we are going exactly? Or are you just going to continue leading me around by my toes?"_

"_It's __nose__, Ziva, and no, I'm not telling you where we're going. Like I said, it's a surprise."_

"_Surprises usually only work out for the one __doing__ the surprising, Tony!" Ziva used her free hand to tighten the scarf around her neck before tucking it back into her jacket pocket, wishing in vain, once again, that she had remembered to grab her gloves when Tony dragged her out her front door._

_Tony shook his head and shot her a half-smile. "Well then, Zee-vah, you're just going to have a little faith in me, aren't you?" His smile indicated that he was being playful, but something in his tone struck a familiar chord in Ziva who had been actively trying to get Tony to realize that the insecurities he had regarding his ability to be counted on were whole-heartedly unfounded._

_Ziva tugged on his hand, pulling him to a stop. His smile faltered for a moment but he recovered quickly, bringing Ziva's two cold hands into his own and attempting to warm them. "Ya know, stopping usually impedes one's ability to __get__ to the surprise."_

"_Tony—"_

"_I know, you don't actually __want__ to get to the surprise, so stopping is a good—" _

_Ziva put her index finger over his lips, effectively cutting off his ability to finish the sentence. "I want you to __listen__ to what I'm about to say and I want you to __hear__ the absolute certainty in my voice it when I do so."_

_Tony shifted now uncomfortable. "Ziva—"_

"_I have faith in you, Tony. I have __incredible__ faith in you."_

_Tony spun, trying to end the sentimental conversation he knew was coming, but Ziva's fingers tightened over his own, even stronger this time. "Ziva—"_

_She released his hand just long enough put both of them on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her, and more importantly, to __listen__ to her. "As my partner, as my friend, as my…" she gulped and looked at him, unsure as to what to say or how he would react. His eyes were filled with trepidation—his commitment-phobia in full force—but he also had that look that was quintessential Tony; and she wouldn't let his ego flail in the wind in order to avoid the awkwardness of the conversation they'd silently but unanimously decided __not__ to have. So she took a deep breath and kissed him full-on the lips, and then looked him right in the eyes. "As my partner, as my friend, as my lover—there is no one in this world that I trust more, or have more unyielding faith in. __Know__ that, Tony! Know it."_

_He nodded and brought his gloved hands up to cover her nearly-frozen ones on his face. He gave them a quick pat and then took them in his own. "I know it." He started taking off his gloves._

"_Do you?"_

_He smiled. "I do," he said, sliding his gloves on her hands and holding them close in between their bodies. "I know it; I do." He kissed her sweetly for a few seconds. "And hearing you say it…" She hugged him close and smiled when she felt his arms go around her. He cleared his throat. "Hearing you say it—" __**means the world**__, he finished silently._

"_I know," she said, hugging him closer. "__I__ know." They kissed again. "Now, where's my surprise?" she said with a wink._

_He laughed outright and threw his arm around her shoulders as they made their way down the snowy street. "Well aren't you singing a new tune, Miss David…"_

"_What can I say?" she asked, putting her head on his shoulder and throwing her arm around his waist. "I trust you…"_

"_I trust you…"_

"_I trust you…"_

"_I trust you…"_

"_I trust you…"_

"**I trust you…"**

* * *

Tony's eyes snapped open as the dull morning sun peaked out from behind his window shades and focused on the clock just a short distance from his face. _5:54am_. He'd been waking up right before his alarm a lot these days, his brain over-thinking things throughout the night and forcing him to deal with the realities of his past with Ziva—a past that they'd both thus far avoided talking about. _And it's getting harder to avoid the landmines_, he thought with regret. He shut off his alarm and swung his legs over the side of the bed, running a hand through his hair, yawning loudly, and stretching his arms out wide. He shook off the sleepiness that permeated his very being and decided to throw himself in the shower.

He'd been dreaming a lot lately—mostly about Ziva, too—which worried him because most of his waking thoughts were spent analyzing his screw up with Jeanne, the Director, and Gibbs. _So why is it that I deal with Ziva in my sleep?_ He leaned his head against the shower wall dismally, unable to answer his own queries, and baffled as to what the last dream meant.

He remembered that night vividly, remembered how happy he was and how happy Ziva had been—and how sure she sounded when she told him that she trusted him. _And then I went and broke that trust. Hell, I trampled it, ran it over in a car, and then threw said car into reverse to run over it again—just in case I'd left any single piece of it intact…_ But that wasn't necessarily true. Tony was concerned about Ziva, mainly because she had a rightful beef with him…and she'd yet to let him have it. In fact, she'd been acting quite contrary to what he expected as well as quite contrary to what he deserved.

She'd picked his sorry ass up in the middle of the night, wiped puke off his face as he purged the alcohol he'd consumed from his system, offered him her bed even though he _knew_ that it made her uncomfortable and weary, drove him to and from work until he'd made arrangements for a replacement car, and of course, she'd stood there in the elevator and listened to him tell her all about his incredibly difficult and emotional conversation with Jeanne—all the while supporting him when he thought the pain of the entire _Jeanne-ordeal_ would overwhelm him. She'd been acting the martyr, and it worried him—because Ziva was a fighter, and so far, there had been no fight from her; and he couldn't for the life of him understand _why_.

* * *

Tony exited the elevator at Abby's lab and entered with a flourish, presenting brand-spanking-new evidence for Abby's approval. "Presents for you, Abby," he announced, placing the evidence box on the table in front of him.

Abby turned with her usual perkiness, and smiled at Tony. She was completely in the know as to what had gone down between him and Ziva, and she ardently believed that not only were the two headed for an eventual reconciliation, but that the sooner Tony realized what he had in front of him the better everyone's lives would once again be. She loved Tony and she loved Ziva, and although she knew all about what Tony had done, she still smiled him. _I just can't stay mad at him_, she happily rationalized as she signed for the evidence Tony had been gracious enough to bring her.

When she put down the pen though, and began inspecting her newest project, she felt a shift in the mood of the room; when she looked up at Tony she understood that the sudden melancholy-doldrums vibe she was getting was emanating from him. His eyes were a little glossy and he was somewhere over the rainbow from the _out-there_ look on his face. _Ziva-trance_, she had dubbed it. But this wasn't the same type of Ziva-induced deep thinking that she'd witnessed thus far; no, this had a tinge of regret that was painfully displayed on Tony's face—though she was pretty sure he didn't realize it. "Tony?" she asked gently, snapping him out of wherever he was.

He recovered quickly, smiling and covering the strange moment with a joke, an impersonation, and a movie reference, but now that she knew what she knew, there was no fooling her. She moved to his side and placed a comforting hand on his arm. "You wanna talk about it?" she asked.

"Talk about what?" he asked, alarmed for a moment, before playing it off once again.

"The _it_ that's got you so…" _sad_, she thought. "…preoccupied," she finished instead.

"Abby, I'm fine," he said, waving her off, but not leaving the lab. "Really," he stressed, nodding his head in affirmation. She just stared him down until he shifted awkwardly, sighed, and broke his _happy-guy_ façade in lieu of a more pensive, _how-do-I-phrase-this_ face. "I'm worried, Abby."

She nodded once, and then moved to half-sit, half-stand, leaned up against the evidence table, her hands folded calmly in front of her. "About what, exactly?"

Tony shifted again, second-guessing his decision to bring this up. _This is a bad idea…_

"Hey," she said with a nod of her head, getting his attention, and looking him dead in the eyes. "You can tell me anything, Tony; you're here for me, and I'm here for you." He still looked unsure. "Look, if you really don't want to talk about it, whether to me or to anyone, then that's fine. Good friends don't push when they don't have to; but if there's a chance that you want to…let it out…then I'll listen, Tony."

"Well," he began, his hands in his pockets and his face still trying to play off his worries as _just nothing_. "It's been a while since my fabulous undercover-blunder was revealed," he said, his tone very much the epitome of self-flagellation, which earned him a stern look from his friend. "…And people are treating me differently—some I expected, but others…I don't know."

"Well, you had to expect that to a certain degree, Tony; but I can't imagine that things are _that_ far off, right? Who wouldn't love you no matter what?" she asked, deliberately baiting the hook and planting the seed at the same time.

Tony scratched his eyebrow, "True enough in most cases?" Abby arched an eyebrow, silently asking for explication. "Well you seem to have forgiven me, Abs, and for that I can't thank you enough." She gave a little bow. "And Ducky seemed to have forgiven me the moment he realized that it wasn't me who was open on his table down there." He coughed. "Gibbs on the other hand—well, I lied to him repeatedly and ducked out and missed work. Let's just say that there's _less_ respect in his voice and _more_ aggravation in his slaps these days." Tony rubbed his head instinctively.

"And McGee?"

Tony waved it off, "Probalicious just looks at me cross-eyed and thinks that I don't notice." He hesitated for a moment. _Should I even go there? It's chancy—but it's Abby. _"It's Ziva that I'm worried about," he forced himself to blurt out before he lost his nerve or talked himself out of it.

"What do you mean?" she asked, grateful that one, he had taken the conversation in the direction she had _wanted_ him to go, and two, that she had a _really, really_ good poker face.

Tony hesitated long enough to wonder how much to tell Abby. "Let's just say that of all the people to rightfully lay into me about what went down, Ziva's right at the top of the list—but she hasn't done anything. As a matter of fact, she's very—supportive—when she's not being all _business-as-usual_…and it worries me."

Abby scrunched up her face, debating with herself about the level to which she was about to breach Ziva's trust. But Tony wasn't seeing what he needed to see, and he was right—there seemed to be some reason to worry about Ziva lately because she was hurting (as she'd witnessed from the other night's conversation as well as Abby's continued observations) and it was time that someone helped push things in the right direction—no matter how "forbidden" those things may or may not be.

So she took a deep breath and then started to talk _really_ fast. "Well, I guess if _I_ had begun a secret affair with my partner only to have him ditch me repeatedly and then break it off altogether, then get the honor and privilege of seeing said partner date a mystery someone, who in the end—as it is revealed to me by my estranged and untrustworthy father—is in fact his _mission_, as she's the daughter of an international arms dealer who managed to piss off my boss's boss—a woman whom I've worked with and respect—and then on top of all of that I get to witness said partner/paramour _explode_ before my eyes and have to work his murder case before he suddenly _pops_ back into my life alive and well …" Abby trailed off, finally taking a breath in, "…then, yeah, I guess I'd be in denial for a while, too."

Tony just stared at her, his mouth agape.

Abby smiled evilly and picked up her _Caf-Pow_, taking a noisy sip before offering it to Tony innocently. "_Caf-Pow_?"

* * *

They sat together in the back room of Abby's lab as she waited for him to say something. "How long have you known?" he asked, his voice horse and his demeanor that of pervasive misery.

"Not long," she said cryptically.

"She tell you?" he asked, not meeting her eyes, choosing, rather, to stare at his entwined fingers. Abby assumed the _she_ to whom Tony referred was in fact Ziva, but that didn't stop her from trying to lighten the mood.

"Tsk, tsk," she chastised, "I have incredible powers of observation and deductive reasoning, Anthony DiNozzo; you don't think I couldn't figure out something like this?" He just looked at her sternly until she caved, shrugging her shoulders and switching to a more serious tone. "She needed someone to talk to—and I offered." He didn't say anything, and Abby was wondering if it was because he didn't _know_ what to say, or if he was just too angry to say anything. "She's hurting, Tony; don't be mad at her for needing to let it out."

"I'm not!" he said, a little too loudly for her liking right now. But then his tone softened and he reassured her by shaking his head and looking her in the eyes, "I'm not, Abby; really. I just, ugh," he groaned and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "I don't know what to do, here. I've already caused so much devastation, I'm afraid I'll just do her more harm than good right now; ya know?"

Abby nodded sympathetically. "I _do_ know," she said. "I get it, Tony, I really do; but you need to talk to her. You two need to talk—let it all out; no more secrets! An all-out spew session designed for getting the two of you back to—to the old Tony and Ziva," she finished, wondering which incarnation of 'the _old_ Tony and Ziva' would appear—the dutiful partners, the caring friendship, the loving relationship; or maybe, just maybe…all of the above. "You owe it to each other and you owe it to this team."

"And how am I supposed to do that?" he asked, frustration evident in his voice as well as on his face.

She put her hand over his in an empathetic gesture. "Just be honest." He guffawed and patted her hand in return. "And if all else fails," she said, smiling at the irony. "Just follow your gut."

* * *

Ziva put the pot on the stove and stirred the contents, babying it, and bringing it back to life. She let it simmer lightly on the stove while she reached over and poured herself a glass of wine from the bottle that sat next to the sink. Then she went over to her cutting board and sliced up a few pieces of the French bread she's stopped to buy fresh on her way home from work. She'd always gone to great lengths with her food; she took pride in her ability in the kitchen and she enjoyed having such hearty food—even if it was only her.

She sipped from her glass, savoring the flavor and appreciating the chance she now had to decompress from the day's events. She carried the glass with her into the bathroom as she set the water running. When it was at the perfect temperature she placed her glass down next to the sink, stripped down and stepped in, rinsing the day from her weary shoulders and lathering her hair vigorously. Being around Tony all the time was slowly but surely wearing her down. There was only so long she could keep on pretending like none of what had occurred bothered her now. In truth, it did a lot more than just _bother_ her—it was killing her…inside. She spent so much of her time now trying to ignore the squeezing in her chest, or the way her throat constricted when she thought about Tony, the way the two of them had been, and how they had ended up. Ziva didn't know what she was madder about: what had happened, or the fact that it made her so emotional.

She shook herself from these thoughts as she stepped out and toweled herself dry before slipping into the warmth of her extra thick sweatpants and a plain long-sleeved shirt. She squeezed the excess water from her hair and decided to leave it down while she finished cooking.

She took her wine glass back into the kitchen, gave the pot another stir, noting that her timing was perfect, and set her place at her small kitchen table. It was just as she was placing down her bowl and setting out her silverware that someone knocked on her door. She looked at the clock on the wall—8:03pm—an early night for her. She sighed, really not wanting to have to deal with people right now, and begrudgingly made her way to the door, sweeping her Sig up on her way—just in case. _One can never be too careful_, she reasoned rationally.

She peeked out the peephole in the door and wished she had just ignored the knock. She shook her head, put her Sig down on the hall table and opened the door with a glare. Tony splayed his hands out in front of him and cracked a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. "I come in peace," he said, hoping she'd relent a bit. She just rolled her eyes before leaving the door open and making her way back to her kitchen, confident that he would find his way.

Tony closed the door behind him and took off his jacket, throwing it gently over the arm of the loveseat by the window. He loosened his tie a little bit and undid the first button, stretching his neck out to give him some more breathing room. He inhaled slowly and smiled at the familiar smells of Ziva's cooking. "Smells good," he noted as he stepped into the kitchen.

Ziva gave the pot a final few stirs before turning off the stovetop and covering it with the lid. She pulled a second wine glass down from the cupboard and set it down in front of Tony, who, she noticed, seemed to be scrutinizing her every move. She lifted the bottle and extended it to him in question. He nodded and she filled his glass up half way before freshening her own. She lifted her glass to her lips and noticed Tony _air-toasting_ her before sipping from his own glass. She swallowed stiffly and gave a small nod, not able to or really wanting to say or do anything more than that. She pulled a bowl down from the cabinet as well, and opened a large drawer to remove a fork and spoon. She carried them and her wine glass over to the table, setting it like she had her own, and was surprised to see Tony hefting the pot off the stove and setting it in the center of the table for her. Surprised…and a little unnerved at the familiarity of the gesture. She took another sip of wine…and then another.

They ate in tense silence, Ziva trying very hard to forget that he was there—and staring at her—and Tony sitting completely amazed at the woman before him. He'd come there to talk to her, to figure out what she was thinking and to work out how they were going to proceed with their lives—because they couldn't keep up this _nothing-happened_ charade forever. But even though he knew _why_ he'd come, and he knew that they really _did_ have to talk, all that he could focus on right now was the way her hair stuck to the back of her shirt (where the wet tendrils had dampened the material); how her long eyelashes fluttered faster the more she tried to ignore him; how the large shirt she wore slipped off her left shoulder enough to bare the tanned skin of her neck to his eyes (specifically the spot he knew drove her insane when kissed); and most of all, how all he wanted to do right now was kiss her and hold her like he had before—when everything was easy with her…when they could just _be_ together without the trials and tribulations of the pain he'd caused them both getting in the way.

They both said absolutely nothing during dinner, and when they were finished he helped her clean up (as he had so many times before), packing up any leftovers, washing dishes, and, cleaning countertops. He'd taken dish duty while she packed up what she wanted to save, so he'd rolled up his shirtsleeves and soaped up every dish or pot she brought him. The two wine glasses were the last thing to get washed, and as he handed the last one to Ziva to dry, their fingers touched for the first time throughout the entire night. He'd noticed that she'd been careful to avoid any and all contact, so it surprised him when he felt her fingers brush over his as he passed her the delicate glass.

It was like an electric shock to Ziva's system—a jolt—but a good one…and a bad one. It took only a moment, but she knew what would happen if she let herself feel what such a large part of her wanted to give in to. A huge part of the weariness she'd felt lately had come from her waning will power; she'd been fighting the urge to constantly just _go_ to him, like she used to be able to do. Having him here in her kitchen, with no one to see them, no one to judge them, and no one to stop them—it was _far_ too tempting. And she couldn't give in to temptation—she just couldn't.

Tony swallowed hard, removed the glass from her hands, as well as the damp dishtowel, and placed them on her freshly cleared kitchen counter. Her breathing was faster now and her eyes told him that she was being very wary—but she didn't make a move to step away from him. So he made a move towards her, their bodies having already been pretty close, there were just millimeters separating them now. She shook her head _no_ but it was completely non-committal. She closed her eyes, scared of what she'd see if she looked into his hazel orbs. She felt him take her face in his hands like he had done so many times before. "Tony…" she whispered breathily as his mouth closed over hers and she succumbed to temptation.

She felt something _click_ inside her instantly, as if they were made to be like this forever. She brought her hands up to clamp behind his head, urging him forward. She opened her lips wider as his tongue traced the contours of her mouth. They held on to each other fiercely as they gave themselves over to the overwhelming need that had built up in both of them. His lips were hot on hers and she'd never felt so alive before.

Tony couldn't seem to stop himself; from the moment she'd opened her door that night all he wanted was this moment—all he wanted was to feel her in his arms, to have her body pressed tightly up against his own. He could feel her urging him on, and every fiber of his being raced to bend to her wishes. He dropped his lips from hers as he brushed her hair out of the way. She moaned in protest for a moment but the moan quickly morphed into one of pleasure as his lips finally made contact with the plane of skin he'd been craving all night. She threw her head back in a sensual moan as he sucked on the spot _she_ knew _he_ knew drove _her_ absolutely over the edge. "Tony…" she moaned again, her thoughts absolute nonsense as her body hummed like one giant and exposed raw nerve. He bit a little harder and suddenly she arched her back, practically screaming his name as she came with the sheer adrenaline of the build-up she'd long been denied.

Tony didn't waste any time after she'd peaked. He scooped her up and planted her on the kitchen counter, attaching himself to her lips once again as she pulled at his tie, and slipped it from its place around his neck. He returned his attention to her throat as he splayed his fingers out over her stomach, inching her shirt up along the way. His fingers were cool on her hot skin and the contrast only fueled the fire burning between them.

As he toyed with the skin of her lower abdomen and kissed his way along the column of her neck, she started pulling buttons from holes, and urging the shirt off his shoulders. The moment his shirt was off he sent her arms up in the air as he pulled _hers_ off as well, and tossed it on the kitchen floor somewhere next to his. Then their lips were on each other again, Tony's tongue probing her mouth as Ziva took one of his nipples between her thumb and forefinger, and rolled it between her digits—eliciting a shiver from the man standing between her legs. She laughed a little and smiled a truly bright smile that, for the first time in many months, actually _did_ reach her eyes. It made Tony smile back at her just seeing it.

He reached behind her and undid the clasp of her bra, baring her to his eyes for the first time in too many months. _Perfect_, he thought to himself, devouring her with his eyes. She attached her mouth to his again, and wrapped her legs around his waist, completely giving up the ghost on self-control. Ziva knew they shouldn't be doing what they were doing, and certainly not what they were _about_ to do, but she just couldn't manage enough self-control to stop herself from doing something that felt so _right_ to her.

The second her legs locked around his back Tony lifted her up and carried her down the hall to her bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.

* * *

**So, was this chapter worth the wait? I know there was a long lag in between chapters, but the chapters from now on are, if I do say so myself, _so_ worth it. But that's really up to you all, right? So, what are you waiting for?—me to shut up? Okay then…REVIEW!**


	17. Lessons

**Title:** Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

**Author:** ChelseaDaggerCinderella

**Summary:** Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

**Author's Note:**

Okay, two quick notes. Firstly, thank you to everyone who reviewed; I really needed the boost, because after I read them, I started writing again (despite the fact that I have midterms and papers and work…lol).

Secondly, this chapter sets up the approaching Tony-Ziva dynamic that we'll be mercilessly exploiting in the upcoming story arc. WARNING: Shameless contest-like plug at the end of the chapter—so stay tuned.

Read on, Friends!

* * *

The first thing Tony heard upon waking was the sound of Ziva's sigh. _So much for putting off the conversation_, he thought tiredly. He looked out through one squinted eye and saw Ziva wrapped up in the bed sheet, her hair splayed around her face provocatively, and a worried/preoccupied look upon her face. He reached out and took her hand in his, stopping its previously nervous twitching. "I can hear your mind buzzing from here," he said, a little amusement in his voice.

"We have to—"

"…Talk," he finished for her. "I know." He placed a kiss on her bare shoulder, lingering there for a bit before replacing his lips with his cheek. "That's actually why I came here in the first place, but…"

She sighed ironically. "We seem to have gotten caught up," she said, smiling down at him a little.

He smiled back at her, brushing her hair back from her face with the backs of his fingertips. "Since the moment you opened that door tonight…" he began, letting his other hand trail down her side sensually. "…all I wanted to do was get…_caught up_," he admitted.

"And now?" she asked, almost not wanting the answer.

He shot her that patented DiNozzo grin, and shrugged. "Hey, I'd be perfectly content just to stay right here with you forever," he said, more than a little cocky. Then he sobered, his grin downgrading to a sad smile. "But something tells me we're not going to be able to do that…are we?"

She shook her head slowly, and brought her right hand up to his face, a sad expression marring her own.

He sighed regretfully, but nodded his understanding. He kissed her lips quickly, catching her off guard, before sitting up suddenly, fluffing the pillows behind him, and stretching in preparation for their conversation. "What do you want to know?" he finally asked her.

_Just __ask__ him, Ziva_, she ordered herself. But she was terrified of the answer. One answer meant incredible pain and anger on her part—pain that she refused to allow to affect her, and anger that she would finally release upon him; and the other meant incredible complications on their part, potentially devastating consequences if handled incorrectly, but also, a return to the ease and comfort she felt when her day to day included secluded nights with her best friend…under the covers…_and in darkness_, she added morosely. She could face down crazed men three times her size, usually armed to the nines, and ready to kill her in an instant—and she could do it without fear—yet the thought of asking Tony the one question she needed to know, terrified her more than potentially anything else had. _Because you fear the answer_, she chastised herself. And because she feared the emotions that came with either answer…

"Ziva?" he asked, inclining his head down to get her attention, his tone prompting her for her own answer. "What do you want to know?" he repeated.

_JUST DO IT!_ She swallowed hard and summoned every hardened edge within her, straightened her spine, and with a chilly glare looked into his eyes. "Are you here because you want to be here with me?—or because you cannot be with _her_?"

_Oh boy_, Tony thought. And then both their cells phones began to ring.

* * *

"So? What did he say?!?" Abby asked, practically screaming.

"I do not know," Ziva said, much more subdued than her companion. She traced the edge of her glass with her right index finger, idly.

"Huh?" Abby screeched, standing up and waving her arms in a typical overly-caffeinated-Abby-Schiuto move.

"Abby!" Ziva scolded, pulling the overzealous Goth back down into her chair, and placating the barman by signaling for another round.

"Ziva, how do you not know what he said? Did you…black out or something? Do you have narcolepsy? Oh, God, is that why he doesn't want to be with you?—the narcolepsy? That's _so_ not cool; I can't believe Tony would _do_ something like that. It can't be right Ziva, I mean Tony is—" But Ziva plastered her hand over the fast-talking rambler in front of her, cutting off any further rants for the immediate moment.

Ziva spoke slowly, enunciating each word in the hope that Abby would return to the more practical levels of reality. "Abby, I do not have narcolepsy, and that is not the reason Tony does not wish to be with me."

Abby nodded beneath Ziva's hand and after a moment's hesitation, Ziva lifted it from the Goth's mouth. She didn't get far though. "He told you he doesn't want to be with you? Oh, Ziva!" she cried, flinging her arms around the uncomfortable Mossad officer.

"Abby," she said stiffly, trying to gently free herself from the embrace. "Abby!" she said more forcefully. "Abby he did not say anything of the sort to me! I was merely trying to stop you from talking."

Abby stiffened slightly and then removed herself from Ziva. "He didn't say he _didn't_ want to be with you?" she asked by way of confirmation. Ziva nodded. "So, then he said he _did_ want to be with you?" she asked again. Ziva sighed in exhaustion as Abby hugged her again. "That's wonderful, Ziva; I'm _so_—" Ziva practically ripped herself free from Abby's arms. "—happy," Abby finished lamely.

"Abby, for the last time: Tony said _nothing_ to me!" This time it was Ziva who was practically shouting. The barman gave her another dirty look, which she returned this time. _I'm not buying anymore drinks,_ she decided testily. She knew she was being a bit short with Abby, but she could not seem to help it—she was just so frustrated with the way in which Abby automatically jumped to conclusions. She loved Abby for caring, but there were only so many times she could say the same thing in different words before she lost her temper. And she really much preferred Abby in one piece; and to her knowledge, so did Abby.

"I don't understand, Ziva. How could someone _not_ say anything when asked such an important, monumental, gigantic, life-altering question?" Abby's voice was squeaky, but it remained at a reasonable decibel level—and she also managed to keep her seat this time. Her hands were flying in all directions, but Ziva decided that she'd take what she could get.

"Wecaudacase," she mumbled, using the straw in her Mojito to ignore answering the question, sucking down the last dregs of the drink until there was a rude slurping sound.

"What?" Abby asked, wrenching the glass from the other woman's hands, and ignoring the protest she made, or how ridiculous Ziva looked with a red straw stuck between her teeth as it bobbed outside her mouth.

"Abby!" Ziva protested, reaching for the glass petulantly.

"Ziva!" Abby mimicked in an equally juvenile manner. Both women sighed in tandem. Abby put the glass back down on the table as Ziva twisted the straw around her fingers, and ignored the look Abby was burning into her forehead. "What. Happened." she said, very seriously.

Ziva breathed deeply before answering. "We were called in; we caught a case _literally_ the moment after I asked him," she said bitterly shaking her head. "So I did not _get_ an answer, Abby; and I do not know what he wants."

"Ah," Abby said simply.

"Ah?" Ziva asked, astonishment playing on her face. "You have been jumping all around this bar for twenty minutes, leaping to all sorts of conclusions, mind you, and now that you have the details—your only response is: 'ah'?"

Abby just shrugged her shoulders. "Well—yeah." Then she sucked down her own drink.

Ziva shook her head in awe. _Unbelievable_, she screamed in her head, before shoving her hand in the air and motioning to the bartender. "Can I get a _drink_, please?!?!"

* * *

They hadn't spoken one non-work-related word to each other in over twenty-four hours. They'd gotten called in on a presumed B&E in a Navy home off-base. The wife of Navy Lieutenant Daniel Charmin was found by her neighbor unconscious on the kitchen floor, the home having been tossed, the furniture uprooted, glass shattered, and the Lieutenant's wife severely beaten.

The Lieutenant hadn't been reachable since they'd found his wife, which was incredibly suspicious, but the house had been plucked clean of valuables, which also made it less and less likely that the husband had been her attacker. And all of this could have been easily found out from Mrs. Charmin, except, of course, that she had as of yet to awaken.

"Boss!" McGee shouted, as Gibbs rounded the corner of the bullpen with his usual determined stride, stopping at his desk and tapping keys on his keyboards, motioning for McGee to go on. "Two days before the attack Metro PD got a 911 from a woman who reported hearing shouts and sounds of a fight coming from the Charmin house. She refused to identify herself, but she said she heard a man's voice railing on about how he was going to kill her if she left him."

Tony stood up and brought up photos of Elizabeth Charmin's injuries on the plasma. "Abusive husband pushes his wife too far, she decides to leave him, and when she does, he threatens her life if she goes through with it."

"_Why_ are we just hearing about this _now_, McGee?" Gibbs asked, angrily.

McGee shook his head, "Report was never officially filed. The officers who responded to the call dubbed it a domestic disturbance and thought they were doing the Lieutenant a favor by not calling it in."

"They nearly got Elizabeth Charmin killed!" Ziva said through her teeth.

"Looks like Lieutenant Charmin did a good job of covering his tracks," Tony noted with a sour tone.

"I want this guy _yesterday_," Gibbs said, his fury a palpable entity at the moment.

"I'll go through his personnel file again," Ziva stated, bringing up the necessary information on her screen. "Perhaps there is something I overlooked."

Tony returned to his desk as well. "I got a list of his friends and relatives, boss; I'll start calling around—see what I can get."

Gibbs looked to McGee who gulped and began typing away. "Checking into his banking, cellular, and e-mail records, boss."

Gibbs grabbed his jacket and stalked out of the bullpen.

"Boss?" Tony called after him inquisitively.

"Going to talk to his C/O, DiNozzo!" Gibbs called back over his shoulder, never breaking stride.

"Of course, boss…"

* * *

"Sit-rep!" Gibbs ordered as he made his way back into the bullpen and throwing his jacket off.

"Nothing."

"Nothing."

"Nothing.

Ziva stood up first. "His career is pristine, his evaluations flawless. His commanding officers have only the highest praise for him, and his men hold him in high esteem."

Tony flashed three pictures onto the plasma as he narrated his portion of the program. "He's got three sisters, all younger, and all happily married—in other states. His father's deceased, but his mother's alive, currently residing in sunny Florida. She hasn't heard from him in three days, but says that's not uncommon as," he paused and cleared his throat, "he knows not to call on game-days."

The entire team turned to look at him with various emotions splayed on all their faces. McGee looked confused (as if Tony had gone crazy). Ziva looked confused too but the look on her face, Tony knew, was the confusion that occurred when she believed she'd incorrectly translated something. Gibbs just looked annoyed.

Tony cleared his throat and shrugged awkwardly before continuing on to explain. "Apparently, Mother Charmin is highly active in her retirement community's weekly card circuit and hears from all her children every Sunday—after brunch and mimosas with the girls."

"Sounds like Mother knows how to party," Ziva commented dryly.

"McGee?" Gibbs prompted brusquely.

"Uh, Lieutenant Charmin gets his checks direct deposited every pay period and then four days later, like clockwork, checks go out for phone, electric, water, and so on. His credit cards show no recent or sudden activity; he hasn't withdrawn any cash, and there's no record of him having any type of safety deposit box. His cell phone is off and the last call he made was a few hours before the attack. No e-mails of interest."

"This guy doesn't just fall off the face of the planet…_find him!_" he yelled at all three of them.

"Uh, boss?" Tony said hesitantly, looking over his shoulder.

"_What_, DiNozzo?" he barked in return.

Tony pointed behind Gibbs towards the elevator bank. "Found him."

* * *

"Gibbs was really fired up about this one," McGee noted from his post behind the glass in the observation room, watching Ziva stare down their suspect.

"Very astute, Probie," Tony said sarcastically. "That's a real breakthrough, there, McGoo," he added mockingly, patting him on the back with fake congratulations.

McGee shook off Tony's patronizing hand with a shrug and a roll of his eyes. "I simply meant, if Gibbs wanted this guy so badly, why is he letting Ziva do the interrogation?"

"Because if he really is a wife-beater, McGee," Gibbs said from behind him, prompting both he and Tony to straighten their form out of habit. "Then he's not going to react well to a woman in a position of power."

McGee nodded in understanding. "He'll see our placement of a strong woman as emasculation and lash out. Got it, boss."

_And there's no one as strong as Ziva_, Tony noted to himself sadly as he watched her make Lieutenant Charmin shrink back into himself. _Trust me…_

"How's my wife? Is she okay?" Ziva's eyes ticked up to his face, not moving any other part of her body. "_Please_," he begged, "Just tell me!"

"Your wife was very severely beaten; she is currently in a coma, and on a ventilator."

He cringed and dropped his head into his hands. "Will she be okay?"

Ziva stood up abruptly and began to circle the Lieutenant as he sat. "I answered your question. Now you will answer mine. What happened to your wife and where have you been?"

"Will she be _okay_?" he asked, his temper barely contained as he gritted his teeth.

She stopped circling him, coming to an abrupt halt right behind him and slamming down her right hand on the table, right next to the Lieutenant's. "_What happened to your __wife__, Lieutenant?_" she screamed.

"Please," he said, barely holding it together. "Just tell me that she'll be okay and I'll tell you whatever you want!"

"You will tell me either way," she threatened, leaning down to whisper loudly in his ear. "And the longer you make me wait, the less patience I will exercise with you." She stood up again and began to act as if everything were perfectly fine. She tossed her hair and stood nonchalantly with her back to the observation room. "And I have been told I am a less than desirable person to be around when my patience begins to run thin."

"I didn't hurt my wife," he wailed. "I loved her!"

"Lov_ed_," Ziva asked, stressing his use of the past-tense. "Your wife is not dead, Lieutenant."

"I _loved_ her and she betrayed me!" he screamed.

"So you killed her," Ziva finished for him, leading him towards a confession.

"NO! No, I—I _couldn't_. No matter what she did I could never…not to my Liz." He was shaking his head manically, seemingly quite adamant about not harming his wife.

"It was that son of a bitch she was seeing while I was deployed!" he raged. "I'm sure of it. She was going to…to cut him out of our lives; she promised me she would. So I left for the weekend, just took off because when I came back—everything would be okay again. She promised…"

"Your wife was sleeping with another man and you did not feel anger towards her? Not even once?"

"Of course I was angry! I was furious!" He started shaking his head again. "But I'd never hurt her."

Ziva leaned down to his eye level. "Even though she hurt you—betrayed you?"

He stiffened his lip and looked her right in the eye. "I didn't hurt my wife, ma'am. But I can sure as hell tell you who did!"

* * *

"He says the man she was seeing was a Metro Police Officer. He doesn't know whom specifically; she would not tell him that," Ziva said in summary as they all observed Lieutenant Charmin in interrogation.

"Probably thought he'd kill the bastard," Tony remarked darkly.

"If this guy's Metro PD then he's probably got eyes and ears on her, boss," McGee surmised.

Tony nodded in agreement. "Maybe waiting to finish the job—that amount of rage doesn't just go away."

"DiNozzo, protection detail—take Ziva." They both nodded and left together, not speaking, but in sync nonetheless. "McGee, give Bethesda security a heads-up and find me the link between Liz Charmin and this Metro cop!" he barked, slamming out of the room.

"On it, boss…" McGee said softly, and left for Abby's lab.

* * *

Tony and Ziva hadn't spoken to each other yet. The car ride was dead-silent. They had not even fought over who would drive the car—something that truly marked the severity of the communication breakdown between the two partners.

It was only thirty minutes later when the pair sat side-by-side in chairs at Liz Charmin's beside that Tony thought to break the nearly thirty hour silence. "I hate hospitals," he announced suddenly.

"I know; you told me." _Though you did manage to spend quite a bit of time there over the past few months,_ she chided him silently, knowing no true good could come from such a comment at this juncture.

"Too many bad memories."

"You said it was like…" she hesitated, trying to remember the phrase that she had not understood then…or even now. "—like 'acid flashbacks without all of the pretty colors,' yes?"

"Yeah," he said, slightly disarmed. Then he chuckled lightly. "That sounds like me alright." _This silence must end_, he groaned inwardly. "Ziva—"

She stood up suddenly, trying to avoid this conversation right now at all costs. "I still do not understand that turn of phrase—_acid flashback_—but apparently—" He stood up and grabbed her arm, spinning her around gently and said her name forcefully. "Tony, do not do this now—not here," she said, motioning to the woman lying unconscious next to them; the woman they were there to protect.

"I'm thinking she's not going to mind much, Ziva," he said sharply.

"That is a completely insensitive thing to say, Tony!"

"Well add it to the long list of ass-like behaviors I've taken upon myself to exhibit lately!" he yelled at her. _Get mad, Ziva_, pleaded. _Get mad at me_…

"Keep your voice down!" she told him firmly, attempting to move away from him but finding instead, that not only was he blocking her path, but he would not relinquish his hold on her arm. She looked down at where his hand held tightly onto her arm and nailed him with a glare. "We do not speak for a day and a half and _this_," she said, motioning to his hold on her arm, "is your best idea on how to—"

"_No_," he said, anticipating her question. "No, Ziva, it's not my _best_ idea; it was my only idea. Every time I've gone to talk to you since the other night you've completely shut down and shut yourself off from me."

"Did you ever take the time to stop and think that that was done _on purpose_?" she asked accusingly.

"I know you, Ziva; of course I did—but that doesn't mean I like it or that we could go around in this _holding pattern_ forever, Ziva…" He shook his head sadly and released her.

It seemed as if the moment he did so, all the anger she had drained from her. "I am not a mind reader, Tony; but I do know _you_ as well. And this," she said, pointing to his sagging shoulders and sad expression, "is not the face of a happy man." He groaned and sat back down in his chair, without leaning back. He remained on the edge of his seat with his elbows stationed on his knees, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. "I would not fault you your grief, Tony," she said softly, "Nor would I fault you if the other night was merely a way to…self-soothe," she finished, forcing out the words with everything she had left in her.

His eyes shot up to her face, shock playing on his face. _That's what she thinks?_ Then he mentally head-slapped himself. _Of course that's what she thinks, you idiot!_

Ziva straightened her spine and took a deep breath. _You will get this out, Ziva David! You will not let this lay rotting between you two any longer than it already has!_ "I need you to tell me if that is the case, though, Tony. And if it is…I will—"

"Stop," he said, shaking his head.

"Yes," she said. "We will stop…if you tell me to."

"No," he said, shaking his head more forcefully and looking up at her with anger and shame. "No, Ziva, _stop!_ Stop being nice to me! All throughout this all you've done is be understanding and supportive when you should be tearing me limb from limb!" he argued.

She was completely stunned. "Is that a request?" she asked sarcastically, trying to cover her complete and utter confusion.

"It's not funny, Ziva! I _lied_ to you; I _hurt_ you; I _betray_—"

"You did not _betray_ me, Tony!" she said with brutal honesty. He went to interject but she cut him off. "Yes! Yes, you lied; and yes…you _hurt_ me—but you did not betray me, Tony. We had no commitment to one another and you _were_ doing your—"

"_Don't_ say I was doing my job, Ziva! I don't think I could stand hearing you defending me yet again."

She sighed and collected herself. She folded her hands in front of her and took in the sight of him, so strong and miserable at the same time. "What _do_ you want me to say, then, Tony?—because of the _many_ things you _have_ done lately, betraying me is not one that I'd count among them." He said nothing, so she said it again, wanting nothing more than for him to hear the conviction in her voice. "You did not betray me, Tony."

"Then why does it feel like I did?" he asked her sadly.

_Oh, that is it; that is enough_, she said to herself, fed up with this cryptic line of conversation. She walked over to him and bent down on one knee, grabbing his face in between her hands forcefully, and surprising him. "I have had enough of cryptic conversations, Tony," she told him. "Answer my question—once and for all." He just looked at her, wondering how best to explain what he so desperately wanted her understand. She took his silence for petulance, and repeated the question she'd asked two nights ago. "Were you there because you wanted to be there with me?—or because you could not be with _her_?"

"Both," he said, looking her in the eyes.

She shook her head forcefully. "You cannot have it both ways, Tony; it is either one or the other and it is time you told me your answer…right now."

He hesitated and swallowed hard. "I wanted to be with you, Ziva—because I could never _truly_ be with _her_…the way I _can_ be with you."

She swallowed hard, her emotions going crazy because she still didn't know what that meant. She stood up and shook her head at him, getting a little angry. "I do not know what that _means_, Tony!"

He stood up as well and grabbed her hands, keeping them in his own as he forced her to look at him. "It means that for every moment I was with her there was another moment where all I wanted was _you_. Because I can be _me_ in every possible way with you, Ziva—and that was made all the more clearer to me by the fact that I was always hiding _something_ from Jeanne. Everything I told her had to be scripted and then edited for content because _I _wasn't allowed to be _me_. Five minutes ago I told you how much I hate hospitals, and not only did you already know, but you knew why—the real reason and not some stupid story about being scarred as a child by one inane thing or another. You know I almost _died_ in a hospital and you know _how_ and what from. You know I won't put on my _left_ shoe before I put on my _right_ shoe. You know that I only put peanut butter on both sides of my PB&J because otherwise the jelly makes the bread soggy and it falls apart." He took a breath and looked at her…hard. His words washed over Ziva and little by little she started to understand the point he was trying to make. "You know I only drink coffee—"

"—When you are bossing people around, or are incredibly tired," she finished, starting to see and appreciate his point.

He nodded, and brought his right hand up to the side of her face, brushing her hair out of the way. "You know this stuff, Ziva, because you…know me. So, yes; I wanted to be with you—because being with her was just…wrong."

She nodded and inhaled deeply. "Okay—you wanted to be with _me_ the other night. But what about the rest of our nights, Tony?" she asked, holding her breath.

He opened his mouth to say something, but in a true salute to the impeccable timing they'd been experiencing lately—his cell phone rang. He groaned and fished it out of his pocket. "DiNozzo!" he barked into the phone unhappily. "Got it," he said to the caller, his tone softer now. "McGee tracked down our abusive cop; he and Gibbs just picked him up—we're done here."

They stared at each other for a moment—each thinking about what they could say to the other right now. Ziva spoke first—and last. "To be continued…" she said with a bitter laugh before leaving the room and heading towards their car, not needing to turn around to know that Tony was right behind her…

**

* * *

So, what did you think? I had a **_**really **_**hard time trying to keep it true to form. I must have re-written it about five different times in an attempt to keep them as purely Tony and Ziva as possible. Let me know, because I'd like your opinions on the successes and failures of my plotting. Haha.**

**In other news, I have high hopes that you all will like the upcoming plot line, and I would be happy to entertain guesses, if you so wish. Perhaps a special prize for the first correct guess? I'm horrible, I know—it's such a shameful way of getting more reviews…but what can I say? I like it when you guys tell me what worked and what didn't and what you'd like to see—it keeps me motivated and you reading. ;)**

**Until next time! **


	18. Grace Period

**Title:** Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

**Author:** ChelseaDaggerCinderella

**Summary:** Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

**Author's Note:**

Okay, so no one really took the bait on the contest...guess I won't be trying that again. So, I'm really excited about this chapter and I'm even more excited to see what you guys think of it. I know you'll all be either screaming or groaning come the end of this chapter, but you'll eventually love me for it…if you are a believer. Haha. Read on!

* * *

When Ziva got home that night she was completely and utterly exhausted. She wasn't even hungry, which was strange for Ziva. It had been a rather trying two days and all she wanted right now was to take a long, hot bath, and then crawl under the covers for the night.

She tossed her keys onto the hallway table (as she kicked the door closed), and threw her bag down on the loveseat before extracting her tired limbs from her jacket, and hanging it up in the hall closet, neatly. She toed off her boots, sighing in relief that her feet were free to wriggle without their harsh confinements, and set them next to her door. She stretched her arms over her head and felt her back crack, followed by her shoulders popping, and then finally her neck as it, too, cracked. She ran in place for a minute, making sure her knees met her stomach with each movement, and then bent over to touch the floor.

_Knock, knock, knock_, she heard, and silently cursed. _It can only be __one__ person_, she thought to herself tiredly, unsure as to whether his appearance would be a good thing or a bad thing. But she opened the door and let him in regardless. He turned around and went to speak, but she held up her hand, halting his words. "Before you say anything, Tony, I want you to know that I am dirty, tired, grumpy, and stiff—and I want nothing more than to take a bath and go to sleep. Therefore, if any of what you were about to say is going to interfere with these plans, then please stay silent."

He laughed a little and then nodded, amused when she sighed in relief. Then he shrugged out of his coat, and then his suit jacket, and watched as a look of confusion came over her face. Now it was _his_ turn to hold up a hand to stop her from talking. Specifically, he held up his right index finger in a trademark _DiNozzo-move_ and motioned for her to sit down on the loveseat, silencing her when she began to speak once again. "_Sit,_" he ordered, pushing her down onto the small couch before turning on his heel and heading towards the bathroom. He started the hot water and plugged up the tub's drain with the stopper, reached below the sink to where he knew she kept her bath salts and threw some into the water. He then went to the kitchen, initially intent on getting her a glass of wine, but then deciding that she'd probably appreciate a beer more.

He went back out to the living room to bring it to Ziva and escort her to her bath, only to discover that she'd disappeared. _That's strange_, he thought. "Ziva?" he called to her, and got no response. He checked her bedroom—nothing. "Ziva?" he called again. He was on his way back towards the bathroom when he realized that the water had stopped running. He quirked a small smile in response, proud of his little _ninja-spook_ and her ability to disappear and then _re_appear like a mist. The small smile then grew into a grin when he spotted the not-so-subtle trail of clothes that now littered the floor leading into the bathroom. He poked his head around the corner and called her name again. "Ziva?" he asked softly, spotting her already soaking in the tub, her hair atop her head in a messy bun, and her head leaning back against a rolled up towel. "Uh," he said, unsure of what to do now that she'd hijacked his good deed. "I brought you a beer," he said lamely, cursing the way he sounded. _Way to go, goof-ball! Only __slightly__ better than 'I carried a watermelon…'_

"Thank you," she said, holding out her hand for it, her eyes still closed. Without any other option, he stepped in and handed it to her, smirking a little at the quirk of her lips as she took her first sip, and trying _really_ hard not to concentrate on how incredible she looked right now…naked and under the water. He turned on his heel, determined not to make a crude remark and ruin what he had hoped was _a moment_, but before he got far at all he heard the greatest words a guy could hear from a beautiful, naked girl in a bathtub. "Care for a swim, Tony?"

He laughed, actually happy, and then shucked his clothing, throwing it to meet Ziva's on the floor. He carefully stepped into the water, and silently rejoiced when she repositioned herself so she was leaning into his chest, the beer still in her hand. He grabbed the washcloth from the side of the tub and gently lathered her shoulders before cupping his hand to bring water up to rinse them clean again. She sighed in contentment and then lifted the hand with the beer to offer him some. He accepted the bottle and took a swig, clucking his tongue as he handed it back to her.

"What?" she asked, concerned, but too tired to be alarmed.

"Oh, nothing," he commented off-handedly, "I just wished I'd gotten two…"

The sound of her chuckle was music to his ears…

* * *

This time when Tony woke up he heard scratching of some kind and a strange feeling like he was being watched…or loomed over. He flipped over very quickly and lashed out at whatever it was, not thinking about the possibility that it could be Ziva…sneaking about so as not to wake him up. She blocked his strike with her arm and then grabbed his other wrist instinctively. "Sorry!" they both chorused before pausing and laughing at each other as well as the situation. She released his hands and he dropped back down on the bed, securing the sheet around his hips.

"I did not want to wake you," she said, a small smile playing on her lips.

He took in her appearance: sweats, a turtle neck beneath a black hoodie, earmuffs, and a scarf (her sneakers had dropped to the floor haphazardly in their small skirmish). "Going for a run?" he asked, not entirely unaccustomed to finding her gone in the morning, lost to her daybreak jog. She nodded, bent down to retrieve her sneakers and then sat on the bed to lace them up on her feet. He snaked his hand around her waist, and she inwardly shook her head. "You know, there are _other_ ways to burn excess calories, Ziva," he hinted not-so-subtly. _Same old Tony_, she thought, and stood up, firm in her conviction.

"Tony, I am going for a run right now. I am going to attempt to clear my head and figure out what it is that _I _want, and what…is going on between the two of us."

He went to speak, almost all traces of his previous playfulness erased from his face, but she stopped him with a finger to his lips. "I do not regret last night, Tony; but this _cannot_ continue as it has been. You and I must decide on what we intend to be to one another." She kissed him on the forehead quickly and turned to exit the bedroom. When she reached the doorframe, though, she turned back to look at him. He was sitting there with an extremely thoughtful look on his face, and seemed to be taking what she said very seriously. "You said you wanted to be with me, Tony, but your explanations for wanting me all included Jeanne." He looked back at up at her then, not saying anything. She swallowed hard and shifted from one foot to the other, more apprehensive than she'd like. "If you cannot separate your feelings for her from any feelings you have for me, then I'll have my answer, Tony." She finished quickly and turned-tail for the front door.

As soon as he heard her leave, Tony collapsed back on the bed, lying on his back, and threw his arm over his eyes. _She's right_, he admitted to himself. But the question was: could he reasonably support his relationship with Ziva _without_ factoring in the things he'd discovered about the two of them while he was engaged in his 'relationship' with Jeanne? Could he adequately separate the two when his realizations about Ziva were so closely linked to his time spent with Jeanne? Could he do it at all? And most importantly, would it be enough?

* * *

Tony had just stepped out of the shower in his apartment when his cell phone rang. He groaned loudly and cursed, very much _not_ in the mood to deal with work at this moment. He had all of these issues to deal with…and all of this thinking to do…and _none_ of it, absolutely _none_ of it, was going to be made any easier by being shoved together with Ziva at this moment in time. But, alas, there was nothing he could do—his cell phone was beckoning him back to reality.

He wrapped a towel hastily around his hips and dashed into his bedroom to scoop up his phone from his pants on his bed. "DiNozzo," he answered gruffly at seeing the exchange for the NCIS dispatcher appear on his phone's front screen. He listened to the dispatcher tell him to report back to NCIS immediately and thought about the myriad of different ways he could tell this particular pencil-neck to go scratch. But he refrained like a good little NCIS agent and said simply, "Understood."

* * *

Ziva was still out running when she got the call from NCIS dispatch telling her to return to the Navy Yard. She hightailed it back to her apartment, but seeing as so much time had passed with her having to _run_ back to her place, she couldn't risk sparing the extra time to _really_ clean up. She tossed her clothes aside, jumped in a cold shower for exactly thirty seconds, threw her hair up in a bun, and pulled on jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. She slid into her boots, grabbed her keys and was speeding her way back to the yard within twelve minutes of the initial call. _Not bad_, she thought to herself as she took a corner on two wheels. _Tony would be furious with my driving if he were here_, she thought to herself automatically. Then she mentally frowned, and shook herself. _Tony is __not__ here, Ziva…_ But, of course, the question she knew she didn't have a perfected answer to was—did she want him to be?

* * *

"Do you know them, McGee?" Ziva asked, referring to the photographs of the two agents who found themselves the victims of a terrorist bombing.

McGee was very sad as he took in the news of his friend's demise. Ziva knew that look well…unfortunately. "Jim Nelson and I went to FLETC together," McGee said, pointing to the Agent on the right. "I was at his wedding two months ago…"

She thought about saying something to McGee, but she knew from experience that right now nothing was going to make much of a difference.

"This better not be another recall drill," Tony shouted heatedly from behind the pair, his sudden appearance and the tone of his voice making Ziva go rigid for a moment. Tony was a sensitive subject with her right now, but, of course, that was far from public knowledge—so she really had to remember to control her reactions right now, and especially throughout this crisis. It would probably be difficult on Tony because of his fondness for Agent Cassidy. They'd spoken a few times about the other agent, and Tony had a great respect and affection for the woman. If she were in the sort of shape Ziva expected her to be, then Tony would begin to feel guilty and protective in his own right. _Tony and his women_, she thought, not jealously, but almost with admiration for the type of person he was.

She turned around and looked at him with as much calmness and support as possible without arising suspicion. "It's Agent Cassidy's team out of the Pentagon, Tony," she said, not anticipating that he'd automatically jump to the worst-case scenario. She could see the blood drain from his face and fear take over his eyes.

"They were attacked," McGee added.

"Is she okay?" he asked immediately.

"She survived," McGee said accurately. Cassidy was far from _okay_, but she was alive—and that's what Tony was asking.

"Her men weren't as lucky," Ziva specified, nodding to the two agents behind her on the plasma.

"Well what the hell happened?" he yelled at the pair, as if that were going to make things better.

"That's what we're going to find out, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, not breaking stride as he sped from one side of the squad room to the other. "Grab your gear," he ordered, screaming it again when all three hesitated. "_Grab your gear!_"

* * *

The camera flashed as Ziva continued taking pictures of the crime scene, taking in what little remained in the already-sparse storefront with aversion and disgust. "Flags of Iran, Iraq, Syria, and Saudi Arabia," she said distastefully. She was appalled and confused. "What type of store _was_ this?!"

"McGee's working on it, Ziva," Gibbs said as he made his way around the crime scene like a mist—just everywhere at once.

"I don't suppose any of you have seen the head?" Ducky asked.

"Still looking for it, Ducky. Judging by the holes in the ceiling," she said, craning her neck up towards the recently aerated building, "I may have to try the roof next."

Tony shook his head. _It doesn't make sense! What point was there to this? This building wasn't __anything__!_ "Why blow yourself up in an empty store?" he asked aloud, without thinking.

"It wasn't _empty_, Tony!" Paula screamed from her position by the doorway. She looked horrible. She had a cut over her right eye, a bruised left cheek, and it looked like a broken left pinky. Plus, she was shaking from the trauma of losing her team so instantaneously and horrifically. "It's my fault!" she screamed over and over, tears falling, and her entire body shaking with the emotional devastation.

Tony felt horrible for her. He felt horrible for speaking without thinking through the implications, and he felt horrible that she was in pain. She was a good friend and a great agent—she didn't deserve this—no one did. He took a step towards her. "It's not your fault, Paula," he said, in an attempt to be comforting. He didn't count on her incredible and all encompassing anger, though.

"You weren't here—Tony!" she screamed. "I killed my team!"

Gibbs took hold of Paula's arm and urged her outside. "Cassidy, outside. _Outside_. Take it outside…DiNozzo, find me that missing head!"

Tony gulped once, nodded that he understood and then made a seamless transition from confused follower to determined leader. He looked up to examine the roof expertly. "Well, it's a drop ceiling. So I think it's probably wedged up there somewhere," he said, squatting slightly to get a better look up the building's skirt. He nudged Ziva in the arm and she spun around quickly. "Ziva, you're going headhunting," he said, sounding all the more like the leader she knew he was. She'd always had faith in him; Gibbs had always had faith in him—it was always Tony who was the holdout. She'd had faith in him—and because of that fact she was now being sent to search for a severed head. _Ah, the irony_, she inwardly sighed. _What a pleasure_, she thought to herself glumly—but wisely she said nothing before climbing her way in to the ceiling of the building with a flashlight and a plugged nose.

* * *

Ziva clicked through the photos and documents they'd collected so far and attempted to get her head around the timeline thus far…just like they always did. "Swabbed his apartment. Not a trace of explosives. He was a former sailor. President of the Muslim Society for Promoting Peace. Tony checked out his friends. Their alibi holds up. They were at a restaurant when—"

"You going to make a _point_ soon?" Cassidy screamed at her. She was shaky and unstable—and extremely angry.

Tony looked up from his computer, his eyes focusing in on the two women before him, hoping that it would not digress into the _extremely-capable-female_ version of a pissing contest. Under normal circumstances he would have been rooting for it, but these were far from normal circumstances and he really couldn't imagine getting in between Paula, whom he respected and at one point lusted after, and Ziva—she who's relationship with him remained hazy, murky, and teetering at the edge of a precipice. Plus, he'd bet on Ziva in a fight against—well, almost _anybody_—in an instant; and Paula had been beaten down enough already.

Ziva's eyes sharpened as she realized that she'd been made the outlet for Cassidy's rage. _I can deal with that_, she thought, thinking that if nothing else, she would allow herself to be a punching bag for her fellow agent. Ziva had heard Tony sing her praises often enough to know that it would be a worthy deed. So she played _into_ the anger instead of trying to play nice. "Yes," she said in her best snippy voice. Ziva rounded on her. "Who did you see entering the building yesterday, Cassidy?" If Ziva had been attempting niceties, she would have broached the topic with much more tact, she wouldn't have invaded so much of Cassidy's personal space, and she most definitely would not have spat her name at her like a toxin.

"I'm not convinced that it wasn't this guy," she said, motioning to the plasma and the picture of Yazeed. "I mean, how do we know that Ducky didn't make a mistake?"

"Tony?" Ziva asked, not removing her eyes from Cassidy's—a sure way to piss off someone in the middle of a territorial dispute.

_Uh, oh_, Tony thought, seeing where this was headed, and not liking his default position as _Monkey in the Middle_. But he knew Ziva was right. "Because Ducky doesn't make mistakes, Paula," he said, gently.

"Which means that what you saw yesterday was, by definition," she added, really twisting the knife, "mistaken."

"Look, even if he did die the day before, it doesn't mean he wasn't involved. Right...Tony?" she asked.

Simultaneously confirming Tony's suspicion, dragging him into the middle of the quickly-heated dispute, and forcing him to go against Ziva at a time when he could use any points he could get, Tony ceded. He and Ziva had long ago agreed that they were not to let work suffer because of anything that may or may not be going on with them personally. Fighting and bickering, squabbling and annoying each other was one thing; this was different—even if it didn't seem obviously so. "She does have a valid point, Ziva," he said, hoping he didn't just piss her off.

"And we don't even know what his cause of death is. I mean, for all we know he could have committed suicide!" Cassidy shouted, not really making any sense at all—a sure sign of her emotional turmoil.

Besides trying to be the bitch in Cassidy's eyes, Ziva was actually appalled at this statement. The absolute non-sensical manner in which this otherwise smart woman attempted to link together the facts actually _did_ spark something in Ziva. "A suicide bomber who commits suicide _before_ his bombing?!?!" She huffed. "I mean…_that doesn't even make any sense!_"

Tony stood up then, really wanting to diffuse the situation as easily and effectively as possible. "No, it doesn't! But it does raise an interesting point," he said, coming to stand in the path between the two hostile women. "Imagine, if you will, ladies, an assisted suicide of a suicide bomber who suicided before his suicide bombing. It's kind of like how many chucks would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood."

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs yelled, smacking him on the head. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Tony let his eyes travel pointedly back and forth between Ziva and Paula, indicating that something was amiss. "I'm just trying to lighten the mood of the room a little bit, Boss."

"I got a better way," he yelled, sitting behind his desk. "Leave. And take her with you," he ordered, indicating Cassidy.

"That works for me," Ziva said softly, just enough to give Cassidy an excuse.

"That works for me, too, Day-vid!" she said, purposefully mispronouncing Ziva's name.

"David," she corrected softly.

"Reevaluate the crime scene," he ordered. "Do not come back until you figure out how the guy _she_ saw got out before the explosion!" When Tony and Paula had left he turned to Ziva, his expression probing. "Are you getting soft on me, Officer David?"

Ziva sighed, planting her hands on Gibbs's desk. "Look, I know what she's going through. Sometimes you need to find something or someone to focus your anger on." She looked at him sincerely. "It's your only relief," she said pointedly.

Gibbs shook his head, torn between being proud of her, and being appalled at her stupidity. "Of course, the drawback is, you know…that they tend to _hate_ you—for life."

Ziva shrugged. "If it helps her get through it, I can live with that." _I've lived with worse…_

* * *

Tony wanted to bang his head against a wall. He'd spent twenty minutes in the car with Paula listening to her rail against Ziva as though she herself were a terrorist. It was incredible how, though she knew almost nothing about her, Paula was able to form an incredibly strong hatred towards Ziva. It was all Tony had been able to do to keep from defending his partner at every insult and slam, but he realized that what Paula needed most right now was to let it all out. So he, quite literally, grinned and bore it.

"I don't know how you can work with her!" she screeched as they unloaded the sedan at the curb.

Tony laughed to himself quietly, thinking of all the ways in which he and Ziva _worked_ together. Then he shook himself and ordered himself to pay attention to the tasks in front of him—keep Paula occupied and calm, and of course, find out how the disappearing man pulled off his magic act. So, he laughed it off. "Well, I worked with you, didn't I?"

"Funny," she sneered. "What do you think Gibbs would do if I slapped her?"

Tony laughed outright in his head, thinking of the expression that would cross Ziva's face if Paula ever did such a thing. _She'd tear her to pieces_, he decided. "I'm more worried about what _she'd_ do; ya know, Mossad assassin and all."

"You don't think I could take her?" Cassidy squeaked, aghast at the mere suggestion. _Warning, Will Robinson_, he thought to himself. He couldn't answer honestly—Ziva would mop the floor with Paula—so he did the next best thing; he laughed it off. "I took you, didn't I?"

_She's got you there, DiNozzo…_ "Ah, technically you did put me down, but I distinctly remember the floor was slippery that day." They each took hesitant steps into the charred remains of the building. Tony looked around and assessed. "Okay, I'll do the left, you do the right."

She took in a ragged breath. "Okay."

"Are you okay?" he asked her, knowing full well that she was far from 'okay.'

"It's just so dusty in here," she commented, trying to cover for the tears in her eyes.

He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Paula, you don't have to do this."

She shrugged it off. "We both know that I do." She nodded to him and then took a closer look at him over her shoulder. "When did you start being so caring?' she asked, a little more surprise and astonishment in her voice than Tony appreciated.

"I have always been caring," he said only semi-petulantly. "I come from a very caring family," he added, proud that he didn't choke on the words at the thought of it. "The DiNozzo's, in fact, are celebrated for their caringness." Inside, Tony was cracking up.

"Right," Cassidy said, not buying it any more than Tony was.

Tony relented a little. "Maybe I wasn't as caring once as I am now…"

"What brought that on?" she asked, and then looked over her shoulder, spotting a far away look on his face. "Or should I say 'who'?"

Tony swallowed hard, thinking of the pain he'd caused as of late. _Cause enough of it and you become very astute in recognizing the signs of emotional agony, Paula_. He gave a bitter laugh. "Paula, meet _can of worms_; _can of worms_, meet Paula," he said, acrimony lacing his words.

She hissed. "That bad, huh? It's gotta be a woman then."

"Plural," he deadpanned.

"_That's_ a shocker," she said sarcastically. "What happened?"

Tony didn't know if this conversation was the best idea in the world. This wasn't exactly the time to be getting into such things, not even counting the fact that it all surrounded a pool of secrets that people were never supposed to find out about. But Paula was looking at him like the little lost dog or the kid who begs his parent for another story before bedtime. Tony shrugged. _Well, if it'll help distract her_…he figured it couldn't do _too_ much damage. So he tried to play it cool. "You hear about La Grenouille?" he asked, sure that she had.

"Wasn't gonna bring it up. Word on the grapevine indicates you're probably not to keen on rehashing it."

"Not terribly, no; but you asked what happened to turn me into the emotionally astute model DiNozzo you see before you…"

"The Benoit girl happened?" she asked, a little shocked.

"Yes—and no."

She stood up and motioned between the two of them with her index finger. "You think _now_ is a good time to get cryptic on me, Tony?" she asked with a menacing tone.

"Collateral damage, Paula. I hurt Jeanne, true, and I didn't exactly get away without some scars; but I hurt someone else—someone I really care about." He shook his head sadly. "And I've been trying to make things better, but I'm thinking I might actually be making them worse." Ziva wanted him to be able to tell her why he wanted to be with _her_ and _not_ why he wanted to be with her now that he couldn't be with Jeanne. He did want to be with Ziva—but it was because he knew he could never have with Jeanne what he could have with Ziva: honesty, understanding, and his best friend. But he wasn't allowed to tell Ziva that anymore—she wanted _his_ reasons and not his _anti-Jeanne_ reasons, and truthfully, he couldn't blame her. He just didn't know what to tell her.

"You love this person," Paula said, gleaning truth from Tony's words, tone, and expression.

"I don't know, Paula," he hedged.

"No, Tony—you _love_ this girl. I can see it," she said, nodding in approval. "And that's a good thing." She took a breath and looked around the storefront thinking about the importance of loved ones while you could be with them. "You should tell her," she decided.

Tony shook his head. _Love? Is that what this was—love? Well, yeah, he loved Ziva; but did he __love__ her?—was he __in__ love with her?_ "Maybe," he said, more to himself than to Paula, but aloud nonetheless.

She heaved a large, sad sigh. "You know, Tony, it's cliché, but it _is_ true. Life is too short _not_ to tell someone you love them if you do." She looked at him intensely, piercing him with a hard stare. "And you do. That matters, Tony."

* * *

"You guys miss me today, Abs?" Tony asked the Goth as he logged and signed for evidence.

"Why?" she asked, deadpan. "Where were you?"

_Well…okay…so much for being appreciated and missed around here_, he thought with a child's mind, having expected a perky burst of energy from Abby. One could always bank on Abby's excitement to give them a lift when you had a case of the blues. "Never mind."

"Of course, I did, Tony!" She grabbed him up in a sudden hug, squeezing him tightly, which, of course, made Tony groan with the pain of his injured right shoulder. "Sorry!" Abby squeaked in apology laced with concern. "Are you okay?"

Tony shook it off and shot Paula a sidewise look. "Cassidy hit me," he said, trying to play it cool.

Paula scowled in response. "If I'd punched him, Abby, he wouldn't be standing."

Tony began to smile but before he could really even quirk his lips he was groaning again, this time from Abby _punching_ him. "OH!"

"Never lie to a woman, Anthony DiNozzo!" Abby yelled, getting right up in his face. Tony just gave her a look that said: _Are you kidding me, Abs? Have we forgotten recent events?_ Abby scowled for a moment and then she heard Ziva chortle from the sidelines. Ziva's less than happy exclamation combined with the look Tony was shooting her snapped Abby back to reality. "Oh…right." She just shook her head and walked away with a confused expression on her face.

Tony shook it off and strode over to McGee. "What do we got, McGeekle?"

McGee's only response was to roll his eyes before launching into sit-rep mode. "Well, Ducky is still saying that Yazeed was dead when the bomb went off, and Abby is saying he was alive."

_Well Abby's never wrong and Ducky's never wrong, so this is like 'Sophie's Choice', Probalicious._ "What did Gibbs say?" Tony asked.

"Where the hell you been, DiNozzo?" came a Gibbsian voice from behind him.

"Solving the mystery of the vanishing dirt bag, Boss," Tony deadpanned, nonplussed.

"Yeah, well it took you long enough."

"He found a secret passageway into the store next to it," Cassidy told Gibbs. "It was actually quite impressive."

_See? Somebody appreciates me_. "It turns out both places were part of a magic joke shop that closed down about twenty years ago."

"So I was right," Ziva said, directing her stare towards Agent Cassidy. "You _didn't_ see Yazeed enter the building."

"Thank you for pointing that out," Cassidy said in what _sounded_ like a civil tongue. "Officer Day-vid."

"David!" Ziva fired back, surprising Abby and causing her to bob her head back and forth between the two wondering what the hell she'd missed.

Tony shot Ziva a look that said _cool it_, and he calmly redirected attention back to the matter at hand. "But now we know we're looking for another man, and we're hoping…praying, actually, that you can pull a print off that," he said to Abby, all his charm being put to good use.

She took the offering as though it were sacred and swore her dedication to the cause. "If there is a print, if there is a fiber, if there is a drop of dried sweat, I will find it!."

"Not bad," Gibbs commented as he made his way out of the lab and called for the elevator.

"Uh, Boss?" Tony asked, following behind him. "I've got a question for you." Tony hesitated a little, already knowing the answer, but unsure as to whether he really wanted to _hear_ it. "That thing you said yesterday. We were really supposed to have the weekend duty Cassidy's team took?" _We were really supposed to be the ones in that blast? This could've all been over with right now?—with all these unresolved issues floating around?_

Gibbs nodded. "Yep."

"So that really could have been us."

Gibbs shook his head, irritated at Tony's narrow-minded thinking. He entered the elevator and turned around to face him. "It could have been us every single _damn _day of the week! Sometimes it _has_ been." He slammed the elevator button that would take him back up to the squad room. "You want to worry about something, worry about tomorrow." And the doors closed.

* * *

Tony thought about how happy he was last night just being with Ziva. He thought about all the nights they'd had together doing everything from shots to movies to making love. They'd gone through so much together and _done_ so much together—but they hadn't done it all. That's when Tony thought about how this morning could have been their last morning.

He and Ziva could've entered that building and been blown to smithereens without ever figuring out what they truly meant to the other. He and McGee could've gone into that building and then Ziva would be the one as messed up as Cassidy was now. _Just another cause of her pain_, he thought to himself bitterly. And then he thought about the last possibility—that McGee and Ziva had gone in there…and been blown apart by some nut job with a God complex. And just like that he was angry. He was angry and he was hurting. The thought of looking at either one of his friends as he'd had to look at Hall and Nelson was heartbreaking. But the thought of seeing Ziva like that—the thought of her dying at all—it had him leaning against the wall while he composed himself. _It would be excruciating_, he realized.

Ziva came out of Abby's lab just then and spotted Tony looking distraught. She hesitated for a moment, unsure as to whether he'd rather she let him be, but like always, she couldn't just leave him there in pain. She placed her hand on his shoulder, like she had so many times before. "Is something wrong?" she asked him.

He used his left hand to cover her right hand on his shoulder and spun around so he was facing her, still holding her hand. "That was supposed to be us," he said, his voice gravelly.

"But it wasn't," she said firmly and objectively.

He shook his head and ran his fingers over her knuckles slowly, reveling in the feeling of her skin. "No, not this time…"

She went to say something, but they heard the sound of Abby's lab doors opening and they each dropped the other's hand as if it had burned them. No one came out, though, and they shook their heads, chuckling dryly.

"So what's with the fever-pitch between you and Paula?" he asked her, his eyes narrowing.

"I am merely being helpful," she alluded.

"By antagonizing her?" he asked skeptically.

She shrugged her shoulders, very nonchalant. "She needs someone to hate," she said casually.

Tony wasn't buying it. "Because hating the terrorists isn't enough?" he replied dryly.

"Because if she hates _me_ then she can stop hating herself," she explained calmly, her eyes belaying a sensitivity and wisdom that Tony had never seen her display before.

In that moment Tony was overcome with something that he could not aptly describe. He'd never before witnessed something as…_incredible_…as what Ziva was doing for Paula. He swallowed hard, unable to verbalize the depth to which he appreciated and respected Ziva in that moment. So he nodded stiffly, and he and Ziva turned to ride the elevator back up to the squad room, each step in perfect synchronicity with the other.

* * *

They found themselves back at the same storefront where it all began. The three senior religious clerics were seated around a table, Paula standing in the background next to Tony, calmly attempting to pray for her team, and Walid at the head of the table, praising Yazeed's efforts for this, his dream come true. "This was Yazeed's dream, to show the world that these terrorist groups do not speak for us. We thank you for making it a reality."

"Well, at least something good is going to come from all of this," Tony said under his breath.

Gibbs's cell phone rang and he quietly answered it, trying not to disturb the proceedings. "Yeah, Gibbs."

"Boss, either Abdul or Jamal is a match!" McGee shouted into the phone in a panic.

Gibbs hung up immediately and drew his Sig, leveling it at Abdul Walid. "Hands on top of your head!" he shouted.

Tony drew his Sig as well, following Gibbs's lead. "Boss?" he asked, unsure as to _why_ they were holding Walid at gunpoint.

"It's one of them, DiNozzo. The prints found on Umar's laptop match the painting gear," Gibbs said quickly.

"What laptop?" Walid screeched, doing as he was told, but still very confused and frightened.

Gibbs rounded on him. "Where's Jamal Malik?"

"He was here a minute ago!" Walid shouted, even more frightened than before.

Gibbs grabbed up his radio and shouted into it. "Ziva! It's Malik! Find him!"

Then it all happened in slow motion. The wall behind them opened and standing there was Jamal Malik, a bomb strapped around his waist, a crazy look in eyes, and a detonator in his hand.

"Behind you!" Tony shouted, making a move to intercept him before he could detonate the bomb…but Cassidy was closer. Before Tony could even comprehend what was happening, Cassidy had jumped through the secret passageway and tackled Malik. "Paula!" Tony shouted, running after her, but it was already too late. As soon as Cassidy and Malik cleared the passageway it snapped closed behind them just as Tony rammed into it full force. Then the explosion and the screams. "Paula!" he shouted again in futility, banging his open palm against the bricks.

Tony just hadn't seen any of it coming…any of it. Paula had been saying that she should have been in there with her team when the first bomb went off—she said that she could _feel_ it. He'd thought it was survivor's guilt, never considering for a moment that it was a portent. That it was fate. He felt an overwhelming sadness come upon him at the realization that Paula was dead. He took a few ragged breaths in an attempt to process what had just happened.

And then he heard the shouts from outside. "We need a medic! Somebody call a bus!"

* * *

Ziva was patrolling the perimeter and checking and rechecking to make sure things were in order. She could hear the low murmurs from the proceedings inside the storefront, and confident in the situation being under control _inside_, she turned her attention to her surroundings—assessing every angle and scrutinizing every passerby. There were four Metro PD officers aiding her in securing the premises, and there didn't seem to be many people around.

Ziva thought back to the earlier scene between her and Tony in the hall outside Abby's lab. He had looked so…torn. As if something inside of him had been cut or ripped out. She'd been seeing so many painful looks cross Tony's face lately that it was a wonder he wasn't clinically depressed yet. But the way he'd looked at her in that one moment when he turned around—like she was the best thing he'd ever seen in his life—and the soothing and familiar way in which he caressed her hand…for a moment, it was if it were just the two of them in their happy little denial-bubble again.

But bubbles _pop_. "Ziva! It's Malik!" she heard Gibbs say through the radio. "Find him!" Ziva's brain processed the situation _very_ quickly. It was only over the course of a few moments that everything happened, but in those moments Ziva realized that if Malik were not inside the storefront where the clerics were, then the most likely place for him to be would be next door—and through the secret doorway. Ziva was six steps away from the second storefront. She took huge strides that would have constituted running if she'd had to cross a greater distance. It took her merely seconds to come to her realization and to head towards the second storefront. In the back of her mind she heard Tony shouting to Cassidy, but all Ziva saw in her mind's eye was the door to the second storefront—two steps away. Her Sig was in her right hand, and she readied herself to fire almost instantly. She didn't get that far. She had _just_ reached her left arm out, intent on wrenching open the door, when the bomb went off, sending glass and some shrapnel right through the glass door…and into Ziva.

**Okay, let me have it! I'm ready. Tell me what you thought…**


	19. Thy Bubble Hath Been Popped

**Title:** Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

**Author:** ChelseaDaggerCinderella

**Summary:** Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

**Author's Note:**

Okay, so I have to say that I am going to need your help, guys. At the end of the chapter I'll explain what I need and how you guys can help. I think it'll be a really great cooperative experience. And it will definitely get me writing again, which, of course, means faster updates. Thanks, all! Hope you enjoy the chapter.

* * *

Tony just hadn't seen any of it coming…any of it. Paula had been saying that she should have been in there with her team when the first bomb went off—she said that she could _feel_ it. He never thought it was a portent instead of survivor's guilt. He felt an overwhelming sadness come upon him at the realization that Paula was dead. He took a few ragged breaths in an attempt to process what had just happened.

And then he heard the shouts from outside. "We need a medic! Somebody call a bus!"

And then suddenly, Tony had an even _worse_ feeling overtake him. Gibbs turned to look at him and the two shared a _very_ brief look before they made a break for the door at break-neck speed. They rounded the corner and plowed through the plastic just in time to see Ziva on the ground, half-sitting and half-lying down, and possibly a little delirious. She was covered in blood and Tony was frozen for a moment as he realized it was all her own.

He heard her groan and in that moment he _snapped_ back to reality. He tore down the street to her side, wrenching his tie off as he did so as. She had some really bad wounds—nasty—but it didn't look like any of them were life-threatening. _But I'm no doctor,_ he thought to himself as he begged whatever powers there were to hurry up with the ambulance. "Ziva!" he screamed at her, and she groaned again, but looked right at him. She was conscious and reasonably lucid.

She had a gash in her head, over her left eye, and there was a lot of tiny glass shards embedded in her left arm as she had obviously used it to protect her face when the blast occurred. But that wasn't what worried him. What worried him was the two-inch nail embedded in her left arm and the blood that gushed from the wound. He tore his tie from around his neck and started wrapping it her arm, trying to tie off the bleeder.

She gritted her teeth and stifled a scream at the pain caused by the way he manhandled the wound. She cursed in Hebrew a few times and then she started cursing in a myriad of languages. "Boss!" he yelled, screaming so loud he startled himself. Gibbs knelt down beside the two and finished screaming into his phone for an ambulance for a downed Federal Agent.

Gibbs knelt in front of Ziva and began to assess her mental state. She seemed all there—just _really_ pissed off. "Hit an artery," she said through clenched teeth.

Gibbs took a look at her arm and started shouting for a first aid kit or anything else they could scrounge up. Metro PD officers scurried about while Gibbs and Tony assessed Ziva.

"Bus is two minutes out!" someone yelled over to them.

"She's bleeding through the tie," Gibbs grit out as he took the makeshift tourniquets the LEOs had in their kits and pressed them down hard on the wound. Ziva cried out but she hung in there like a trooper. "You're tougher than that, David," the older man teased her, pleased when she growled in response.

"Belt," she choked out, looking at Tony.

He understood her immediately and began unbuckling his belt in almost the same instant. His heart was pounding so fast he thought it might just burst out of his chest. _No, no, no, no, no_, he kept thinking—the mental equivalent of rocking back and forth like a small child. He wrapped it around the wound and looped one end through the other. He paused for a second to look her in the eyes and she nodded to him, her eyes telling him to _just do it_! He pulled as tight as he could and she cursed in a language he couldn't even identify. He fastened the belt and prayed that it halted the bleeding enough. When he was done, he grabbed her uninjured hand and moved so she could lean against him. She didn't argue. A minute later they heard sirens approaching and within another two they had Ziva loaded onto a stretcher and into the ambulance on its way to Bethesda.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs yelled, "Stay with her!"

Tony nodded, not having to be told twice, _or even __once__,_ he added silently, glad that he wasn't going to have to fight to go with her. Tony climbed up in the back of the rig and sat down next to her, gripping her good hand, his eyes never once leaving hers. "I'm right here," he whispered to her. He felt her squeeze his hand in response and right before the drugs kicked in he saw her lips form one familiar word. _Toda._

* * *

Ziva's head was _very_ fuzzy. She remembered the events at the storefront, she remembered Gibbs and Tony tending to her, she remembered being loaded into the ambulance, and she remembered that Tony had been with her. Everything after that was very sketchy. Ziva had been drifting in and out of consciousness since the EMTs had given her the pain killers in the ambulance, leaving her memory very much like Swiss cheese.

Everything was very hazy and her head felt as though there were a low humming all around it. She hated it. Under normal circumstances, when Ziva began to wake from sleep she could _feel_ her surroundings and take proper inventory of her general well-being; it was part of her training, something she used often, and when without it, she felt very vulnerable and anxious. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, her lids heavy. She blinked a few times and looked around her. She was in the hospital—_a recovery room by the look of it_, she thought relatively clearly. Her entire left arm was bandaged from her fingers all the way up to her neck. She could feel the scratchiness of the gauze that covered her chest and neck, and if she was correct, she had a few stitches over her left eye. _I must look like a mummy_, she thought sourly. She caught a movement of black out of her right eye and saw—with relief and delight—that Tony had not left.

He set his coffee cup down on the table and came to sit down next to her, picking up her good hand. "Hey," he said with a smile, brushing her hair out of her eyes gently.

She tried to smile at him, but winced at the pain the small movement caused—and then the wincing caused _more_ pain—so she cursed and sighed and rolled her eyes at him instead, having found _one_ seemingly pain-free way to express her displeasure for the situation.

"Well, aren't _you_ a mess?" he tried to joke, but she just scowled at him.

"Right," he said, sobering and patting her hand. "I suppose it would be cruel to make you laugh when doing so would just cause pain."

She managed to chortle softly. "Who said anything about _laughing_, DiNozzo? That would require you to actually _be_ funny."

He was taken aback, a little amused, and a little surprised. "Well apparently it's even impossible to _blast_ the sass out of you. Okay, I'll play—but only because you're over there looking all banged up and the what-not."

"Banged-up, huh?" she asked with distaste before becoming more serious. "How bad _is_ it?"

He leaned back in the chair and nodded soberly. "Well," he began, stretching out the word ominously, "The liposuction went reasonably well, and you'll be happy to know that you no longer have that unseemly arm-waddle _right there_," he said, gesturing to _her_ left arm and then his own for purposes of demonstration. He sighed heavily and then looked glum, "But I'm afraid that the face lift didn't go as well—they said you have to keep yours."

"And the serious answer?" she said, her eyes not leaving his.

He heaved a large sigh and then sat forward on the edge of his chair. "You've got twelve stitches over your eye, multiple small wounds from the flying shards of glass, and they operated on your arm to repair the severed artery—so you were right about that."

"My prognosis?" she inquired.

"Sullen…and moody," he quipped. She just looked at him. "It was only _partially_ severed so the operation was less serious than it could have been, as will the recovery. There wasn't any nerve damage and it didn't rip through any muscles or tendons. You'll be benched for a while," he said, looking at her with sad eyes. "But you were lucky."

Ziva wasn't wholly herself at that moment, but there was something in the way that Tony spoke that made her think that he was telling her _she_ was lucky because someone else was not. Her mind worked as quickly as it could while so doped up. _They key is in his eyes_, she thought to herself, looking at him closely. "What has happened?" she asked him, her tone belaying that she knew something bad had occurred.

He looked her sadly. "Paula's dead—she took down Malik in the blast."

She squeezed his hand with as much energy as she could muster. "I am sorry, Tony; I know how much you cared for her."

His face was guarded stoically. "It's hard to think that that's exactly what she wanted," he said, and scratched his nose with his index finger.

Ziva nodded stiffly; she understood that perfectly. "It is not easy to be the one left behind, Tony. When one feels as much guilt as Paula did…" she trailed off, feeling a constriction in her own throat. _…All you want to do sometimes is to end it._ She shook herself and nodded to Tony. "She died a hero, Tony—surely one can find solace in that?"

He sniffled and nodded—and then he yawned.

"You should go home," she chastised. "It has been a horrible day, Tony; you need to get some sleep."

"Yeah, you're right," he said and stood up, heading for the door.

Ziva was a little taken aback. _I thought he would at least put up a longer fight_.

Then he stopped at the doorway, looked back at her, and winked. "You should get some sleep too," he said, shutting off the lights in the room, shutting the door, and making his way back to her bedside. He grabbed the large arm chair from the far corner of the room and dragged it back towards her bed. She smirked and chastised herself for thinking that he'd _actually_ leave. He plopped down in the big chair with an over-exaggerated show of effort, and put his legs up on the chair he'd previously occupied. He was facing her and he threw her a knowing smile. "You didn't actually think I was leaving, did you?"

She didn't answer him—she just sighed. "I am surprised that Abby did not storm the hospital," she said lightly.

He scooted his makeshift bed a little closer to her and picked up her right hand so it was in his. "Oh, she did," he said. "But you were still in surgery, so there wasn't much she could do except react like Abby, which she did," he clarified. "As a matter of fact," he said, pulling out his cell phone and hitting keys, "I'm supposed to send out a blast text when you wake up."

"I do not wish to see anyone right now, Tony," she said, a little panic in her voice. His eyes cut to her sharply, worried all of a sudden. Then she relented. "At least, not until I am more…myself," she said awkwardly.

"Understood," he said, nodding. He finished his text and flipped the phone shut. "No visitors until tomorrow; that can be arranged." He stroked her fingers soothingly and she closed her eyes. Within a few minutes she was asleep and snoring softly, the drugs increasing her susceptibility to sleep.

Tony just sat there watching her in the soft glow of the moonlight from the window for a few minutes. He thought about the events of the last forty-eight hours and he just couldn't believe that _so_ much had gone down in such a small span of time. He thought about Ziva's ultimatum two mornings ago—it was reasonable, he had decided. He thought about what Paula had said in the storefront, and he found himself wondering if what he was feeling _was_ love. Tony was reasonably sure that he could have loved _Jeanne_ if he hadn't had to lie about himself so much—and if he hadn't been so conflicted about his feelings for Ziva. Ziva—the woman with whom he didn't have to keep secrets; the woman who knew him altogether _too_ well; his best friend; his partner.

He thought about how he felt when he saw her lying out in the street after the bombing, and he knew he never wanted to feel that overwhelming panic _ever_ again. There was a small fraction of time during which he thought she might die, and in that moment his entire _being_ let out such an excruciating wail that Tony had no choice but to stand up and take notice of the fact that he couldn't lose Ziva—he knew he wouldn't be able to bare it. She was such a huge part of him—she butted in where he didn't want her; she pushed and prodded, poked and nagged until he wanted to strangle her; she never took _no_ for an answer when she'd set her mind on something; and she never gave up on him when even _he_ himself had. She pushed him, he realized. _She's a pain in the ass_, he rationalized to himself. And then he smiled, thinking about her craziness—the way she'd massacre the human language, the lengths she'd go to in order to prove him wrong, the sense of humor and adventure that provided him with a partner in crime more times than either one of them would _rightfully_ admit to. Yes, she _was_ a pain in the ass, but she was _his_ pain in the ass, and he wouldn't trade her for the world.

As much as he knew about Ziva, there was just as much that he _didn't_ know. And he found himself wondering as to where she got her strength. She'd deliberately alienated herself from Paula (risking, at the time, the destruction of a professional relationship that would be lost to her for the remainder of her career, as well as any civility Paula may have _ever_ shown her) in order to help Cassidy live with the grief and guilt she felt.

He remembered that unknown emotion that overtook him in the hallway; he remembered the way she'd struck him silly from the moment he met her; he remembered her words to him the night that Gibbs quit—and all the times she'd put her faith and trust in him since then; and he remembered how after all he'd put her through, she'd come to haul his ass out of _Donnie's_ that night to take him home and make sure he was alright.

She was an incredible woman, he realized—not for the _first_ time. _One I don't deserve,_ he added silently. _But one I __want__, though_, he decided once and for all as he bent down to kiss an uninjured part of her forehead. _One I __really__ want._

* * *

Drugs do funny things to people. There are so many different drugs and so many different ways that all the people in the world can react _to_ them. They can make you happy or sad; they can mellow you out, or make you bounce off walls. Some can make you sick to your stomach, and some can completely knock you on your ass. Right now, the drugs in Ziva's system were making her dream…

_She was eight years old, very cute, and she was still innocent enough to have the happy smile of a child who believed there __could__ be happy endings. Right now, the eight-year-old version of Ziva David only wanted one thing—the candy that her mother kept from her by stashing it on the very highest shelf. She was too short to reach it so she often found herself just standing there looking up at it with longing._

"_You're never going to get it like __that__," he said from behind her. She spun on her heel, surprised by his voice, but then she flung herself at him, so happy that he was there. "You're back!" little Ziva cried, overjoyed at his reappearance in her life._

_He scooped her up in his arms as she attached herself to him, squeezing as tightly as her small arms could. He slung her onto his hip and stood up. He ruffled her hair and smiled when she giggled. "I told you I'd come home for your birthday, achoti. Would I lie to you?"_

_She shook her head 'no' emphatically, the smile still shining on her face. "Of course not, Achi. I'm just so glad you're home!" She squeezed him even tighter, burying her face in his neck. She'd missed him so much and his homecoming was the greatest birthday present she could think of. _

_He laughed heartily at little Ziva's exuberance and sighed dramatically. "Well, with a homecoming like this, I should come back more often," he said, and plunked her down on the kitchen counter. He leaned on it, his hands on either side of the little girl. "Well, now—what is it that you want for your birthday, Zivaleh?"_

"_You came home," she said simply. "That is all I wanted; I missed you…"_

_He mussed her hair playfully. "I missed you too, little one. But am I to believe that there is __nothing__ else I can get you, birthday girl?" He leaned in closer, seeing her eyes drift up towards the top shelf. "Nothing at all?" he asked knowingly, looking up at the candy stowed away in the top cabinet. He scooped her up quickly, making her squeal in surprise, and then put her up on his shoulders so that she could now reach the candy cabinet. She opened it up very slowly, so as not to alert anyone to their secret mission, pulled out the jar with all of the many pieces of brightly-colored candy, and plucked out a bar of chocolate. She put the jar back in the cabinet and closed it silently. When he lowered her down to the floor once again she cheered silently, and hugged him close. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she kept saying. He bent down to one knee again so he could hug her back._

"_You don't have to thank me, Ziva," he said smiling. "That's what big brothers are for…"_

_Then he pulled back and she looked at him—but it wasn't the same scene as before. All of a sudden he was a full grown man with hate in his eyes and a large bleeding bullet hole in the center of his head. He looked at her with such hate and disgust now—all traces of her loving brother extinguished. She struggled to get away from him, but she couldn't move—she was trapped in the body of her eight-year-old self. He grabbed her to him brutally and began screaming at her. "Until you __killed__ me, little sister!"_

* * *

Ziva jolted awake with tears in her eyes. She was breathing quickly and she felt an incredible nausea come upon her. Her stomach rolled over and she knew she was going to be sick. She reached out with her good arm to the hospital table that had been rolled over her bed and grabbed for the pitcher of water, heaving up bile from her stomach as it burned its way up her esophagus. There was barely anything _in_ her stomach, so after a bit it was just dry heaving and heavy breathing.

And then Tony was there, placing a cold cloth to her forehead and wiping her mouth just as she had done for him. He didn't ask any questions, and he didn't say a word. She was grateful for that. He took away the now-vile water-pitcher and brought her a fresh glass of water to sip slowly. He brushed her hair back from her face in a soothing and repetitive gesture. She nodded her thanks to him, took a few deep breaths, and tried very hard to forget the nightmare she'd just had.

"The doctor said you might have a bad reaction to the anesthetic," he explained, his eyes avoiding her own.

_He's lying,_ she thought. _He's giving you an out, Ziva_, she realized. And she took it, gratefully. "Well, then, I should avoid having to be operated on, then," she said in an attempt at levity.

He smiled at her and nodded before sitting back down and grasping her hand reassuringly. Ziva never went back to sleep, but that was okay—because neither did Tony.

* * *

Abby came bursting through her hospital room door the next morning baring hot tea and coffee, and donuts. Ziva had been in and out of a supremely restless sleep all night. At some point she'd decided just to _fake_ sleeping so Tony would allow himself to pass out as well. She was glad he was there with her, but between the issues that surrounded the two of them, the pain of her recently operated-on arm, and her extreme unease over her ever-present and now _increasing_ night terrors, Ziva wasn't so much _tired_ as she was _weary_. Abby's uplifting and energetic nature was a welcomed change of pace from the endless parade of thoughts marching through her head.

The Goth set the tray of hot beverages on the hospital table along with the bag of donuts, planted her things on a spare chair, and slung her coat over the back of it. Ziva noticed that Abby's eyes stayed focused on anything that _wasn't_ Ziva. _I must look worse than I first thought,_ she decided, not bitterly, but none too happy either.

"Let's see—I stopped at Mario's bakery, your favorite," she said, inclining her head to her friend in deference, "and I got all the goodies. Some turnovers, Danish, donuts, croissants, and a few cookies for later on." She moved over to the drink section of the offering and waved her hand over the tray as if it were a full of magic. "_Here_, we have a wide assortment of toasty-warm beverages ranging from herbal tea to coffee to hot chocolate, and a hot tottie, but seeing as you're all doped up, I'm thinking that one's not for you."

Ziva smiled at the young woman. "Thank you, Abby, but really, you didn't have to."

"Ziva!" she screeched, finally succeeding in waking Tony, who mumbled something and tried to turn over in the chair. "You're one of my best friends, you're in the hospital, and I don't carry a gun—there are few things I can _actually_ do to be helpful when you all keep getting yourselves hospitalized! Consider this the Schuito equivalent to '_Federal Agents, drop-it, scumbag!'_'" she said, dropping into a defensive crouch, lowering her voice, and mimed holding a suspect at gun-point.

"Thank you, Abby," Ziva said sincerely, glad to have a friend like her.

Tony moaned from her other side. "Can we ask Agent Sciuto to keep the arrest to a dull roar, please?" he asked, extricating himself from his makeshift bed and moaning painfully as all sorts of body parts began to crack in protest to being compressed all night long. He shook his head like a dog does when it's fresh from a bath and it wants to get its human owner very wet.

Ziva chuckled. "Good doggie," she said with a wink.

He just gave her a look. "You feeling any better?" he asked, concerned about her early-morning episode.

She nodded stiffly. "There's a little pain, but I'm fine," she said.

"Good thing these hospital beds come fully loaded," he joked. He dropped his hand down to the side of her bed and brought up the little red morphine button, handing it to her with a look. "Pain, meet Mr. Morphine, Mr. Morphine," he said, narrowing his eyes, getting up close and personal with the piece of equipment, and imitating some ominous voice, "meet your maker."

Abby laughed lightly. "I see you haven't gone without entertainment," she said to Ziva.

Ziva smiled a tight, awkward smile, and nodded.

"Here," Tony said, handing her the morphine button.

She waved him off and put on a brave face. "It is not that bad, Tony; I will be fine." She flashed him a diversionary smile. "Abby is here to distract me," she reasoned, letting the button fall onto the bed next to her. The truth was it hurt a lot more than she was letting on, but she'd dealt with much more pain than this, and there was absolutely no way she was going to go through another night like last night. She hadn't had a bad reaction to the anesthetic, though she was thankful that he'd let her remain in denial about last night without being too curious. _He really knows me well_, she thought to herself a little awestruck.

Abby smiled wide. "And distract you, I shall. What's your poison?" she asked, gesturing to the various containers she had brought in.

Ziva startled. "_Poison_?" she asked, slightly alarmed.

Tony shook his head with a smile. _That's my girl_, he thought thinking back to the previous night's revelations. _Can't understand a damn thing sometimes…_ "Easy, Abs," he said with false bravado. "She been knocked around quite a bit lately, probably lost a good deal of the knowledge required to understand the expressions she _had_ learned before." Ziva scowled at him. "Let's go easy on our gal this week with the colloquial, shall we?" he said with a wink at both women.

"Yes, Sir!" Abby said, saluting Tony incorrectly before returning her attention to Ziva. "To rephrase, which of these lovely drinks and breakfast foods would you care to partake of, oh wounded one?" Tony reached in for a danish as Abby finished and she slapped his hand.

"Ow!" he protested.

"Patient first," Abby ordered. "Ziva?"

"I think the hot chocolate and a croissant might be _my best bet_," she said, emphasizing the turn of phrase for Tony's benefit and gratefully accepting the proffered cup.

"Tony?" Abby asked. "Those who stick around all night get second dibbs," she said with a smile.

"I'll take the coffee and a danish, please," he said tiredly, receiving the cup and dumping four packets of sugar in at once.

_He's drinking coffee_, Ziva noted wearily. She sighed and scowled for a moment. "The morphine's there for a reason, Ziva," he reminded her thinking she was in pain. She rolled her eyes at him, and Tony scoffed. "What did I do in the _three_ minutes I've been awake?" he asked, astonished.

"You should have gone home last night, Tony," she said quietly.

Tony shook his head, confused and astounded. "What?"

Abby looked a little uncomfortable. Knowing what she knew and witnessing what she was witnessing, it made for a jacked up tension level at that moment, and so she shifted awkwardly.

"You're exhausted," Ziva said to him plainly.

He took a sip of his coffee. "Am not," he argued. She looked pointedly at the coffee cup in his hands. His eyes followed the path of her stare and he scowled at her in return. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said childishly, taking an obscene bite of his danish. "You need coffee to wash down a good danish," he explained, his mouth still incredibly full. He took another sip of his coffee to prove his point, and he smiled smugly at Ziva.

"Tony—" she began to argue, but was cut off.

"Knock, knock," McGee said, poking his head in through the door. "Up for a few visitors?" he asked as he walked in, Ducky, and Gibbs right behind him.

_As if I have a choice_, she thought a little sour. But she smiled as best she could and decided to be thankful that she _had_ such caring friends.

"Now it's a party," Tony muttered, sipping from his coffee again. He knew that Ziva really didn't want visitors, that she _was_ in fact feeling pain, and that they had only a few hours left until she tried to make a break for it. "I don't suppose you brought a change of clothes with you, McGoo?"

Ziva huffed, "I _told_ you to—"

"Eh!" Tony said, throwing up his hand to stop her from talking. She looked at him as though he had grown a second head. "You just drink your cocoa there, sparky, and stop worrying about me, will ya?"

Ziva took a deep, calming breath and tried to remember that this was Tony being _caring_. _We are in front of the other, after all..._

"You stayed here all night, Tony?" McGee asked, surprise evident in his voice.

"Protection detail, McGoo," he bristled. "Perhaps you've heard of it."

"Tony there's no one after Ziva—she doesn't have to be protected," McGee argued.

"Oh, Probie-san, how much you have yet to learn. It is true, our little Mossad ninja doesn't need my protective services, however the same cannot be said for the hospital staff. I'm protecting _them_ from Ziva," he clarified, taking another sip.

"You will be the one in need of protection soon, Tony," Ziva threatened. "I still have _one_ good hand," she alluded, smiling menacingly. "Imagine the possibilities…"

Abby stifled a chuckle as Tony blanched and Gibbs smirked. Ducky took a step forward looking at Ziva with a doctor's eye. "How're you feeling, my dear? Any ill effects?" he inquired innocently. Tony looked at her sideways and Ziva avoided his gaze, smiling at Ducky and shaking her head 'no.' "Do you mind?" he asked, indicating her chart at the foot of her bed.

"Please," she said.

Ducky picked up the chart and started to read, making a sound and frowning here and there.

Gibbs saw Ziva start every time Ducky made a comment or nondescript noise. "Wanna share with the class, there, Duck?" he asked, saving Ziva from having to ask the same thing.

"Oh! My apologies, Jethro, Ziva," he said inclining his head. "It seems as if everything is in order, though, a partial severing of the left subclavian artery, my dear; I am just glad it was not any more severe than _that_." He replaced the chart and motioned to her left arm. "I expect you're in a good deal of pain. I do hope you're making good use of your pain medication, Ziva—it is there for a reason, after all."

Ziva once again avoided Tony's gaze, as well as Ducky's, choosing simply to nod once again.

"Jenny sends her wishes for a speedy recovery," Gibbs informed her, his small smile reassuring.

She nodded her thanks and finally had to make eye contact. She sighed, trying to work up the nerve. "Has she…made the call yet?" she asked him.

He nodded curtly. "First thing this morning, once she knew enough. As a matter of fact I wouldn't be surprised if—" Gibbs cocked a knowing smirk and fished his ringing cell phone from his pocket. "Yeah, Gibbs," he answered, looking right at Ziva. He looked at her as he listened to the caller on the other end, inclining his head in question. She debated with herself for a moment, and then decided that she was not as of yet ready to have _that_ particular conversation, so she shook her head. "No, not currently." There was more talking on the other end. "Understood," he said before closing the phone.

"Thank you," Ziva said sincerely.

"Can't dodge it forever, Ziva," he said knowingly. She nodded again. "You focus on getting back on your feet," he said by way of letting everyone know it was time to go.

"Her feet are the one thing that didn't get injured," Tony quipped, receiving a smack to the head for his efforts. "Thank you, boss."

"Feel better, Ziva," McGee said.

Abby looked conflicted, unsure how to say goodbye when her second best pastime was no longer an option. "I'd hug you, but I wouldn't know where I could without hurting you, so here's an air hug," she said, pretending to hug an invisible Ziva, "and I'll save one for when you're all huggable again," she promised before gathering her things and leaving with McGee.

Ducky came over to kiss her on the forehead in a grandfatherly sort of way, made her promise to mind her doctors, and then he made his exit as well.

Gibbs came closer to the bed and Ziva caught his attention. "When will I be able to return to duty?" she asked, very obviously wanting nothing more than to get back to work. She'd only been bedridden for 18 hours, but she was already going stir-crazy—and she'd been asleep for most of her sentence thus far.

He swayed his head to and fro in a patented Gibbsian shake of the head, and gestured to her cup of cocoa. "When you can drink that with your left hand," he said simply. Then before she could protest he picked up the morphine drip controller and hit it twice.

"Gibbs—" she began to protest, but it was too late.

He smirked at her and then placed his hand on her left cheek for a moment with fatherly concern. "Ya did good, Ziva, but don't try to be a hero," he finished knowingly, before nodding to Tony and making his exit.

She saw Tony sit back down in the large arm chair, and then moments later she was asleep again.

**

* * *

I'm having such a hard time getting past this block of mine. I'm about five and a half chapters ahead of this chapter and I'm completely stuck on a particular transition. Basically, everyone is at a party for Tony's birthday; they're at a bar—what kinds of scenes would you guys like to see? I have an agenda with the scene and the storyline that goes with it, but I'm lacking the creativity necessary to inspire the social minutia that I need to write. Suggestions wanted! What do you want me to write into the party scenes? Let me hear you, readers!**


	20. Fixing Things

**Title:** Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

**Author:** ChelseaDaggerCinderella

**Summary:** Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

**Author's Note:**

Okay, so in light of it having been a while and the fact that we're in the midst of this extremely nerve-wracking two-part story arc with Ziva and Michael and Mossad and Tony and OI!—I decided it was time to post a new chapter.

Sadly, I still haven't been able to get past my previous problem, but I'm done with school as of the 19th, I go on vacation the 22nd (I'll try to post a chapter before I leave), and I can officially begin writing guilt-free (that's the key, you see) around June 9th! I'm hoping that not having deadlines for horrid papers and god-awful classes will make me write like crazy.

I hope you guys like this chapter. I think you're gonna enjoy the…well, read for yourself.

Enjoy!

* * *

"_Higher, achoti!" the little girl cheered as she swung on the small swing set. She was four years old with a brilliant smile and beautiful brown eyes—just like her sister._

_The thirteen-year-old Ziva used all her energy to push her little sister harder on the swings, but she did not share the younger girl's enthusiasm. It was Ziva's job to keep Tali occupied and distracted; it was her job to make sure she ate; and it was __her__ job to keep some semblance of normality and security in the face of their mother's death. It was all Ziva's job because her father was never around, and Tali refused to be anywhere where her big sister wasn't. _

_Ziva took a deep breath and pushed again, her heart breaking with every little laugh it prompted. Tali had never really gotten the chance to know Malka—she'd gotten sick while Tali was still small and since then she'd been in and out of hospitals and cordoned off in that room at the end of the hall. Ziva missed her mother terribly. She missed her smile and her laugh, the smell of her perfume and the way she'd stroke Ziva's hair before she fell asleep. _

_Aunt Netti came as much as she could, but it just wasn't the same as the presence that she'd known all her life. Ziva swore then that she would be there for Tali so that the little girl would never have to know the pain of losing such a familiar presence—such a strong mechanism for comfort. _

"_Why don't you try being a child again, little one?" Ari asked her gently, coming up behind her and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. _

"_I am not a child anymore, Ari," Ziva said stubbornly, and gave Tali another push._

"_I beg to differ," he whispered, taking her hand and guiding her to the swing next to Tali's. "Sit," he ordered._

"_Ari—" she protested as he forced her down onto the swing._

_He held up a hand and leaned down to look at her. "I know you want to protect her," he said. "But someone has to protect you as well, Ziva."_

"_Papa protects us," she defended stubbornly._

_He looked around the yard as though he were expecting something. "I don't see him here now, little one." She sighed and a tear escaped despite her efforts not to cry in front of either one of her siblings—but especially Tali. Ari wiped away the mutinous tear with his handkerchief and then handed it over to his little sister so she could wipe away the offensive droplets herself. "Swing with your sister, Ziva—let me and Netti worry about the rest right now, yes?" Ziva nodded and sniffled. Ari ruffled young Ziva's hair as he always did and gave her a quick kiss on the head. Then he stood up and stopped Tali, giving her a hug and kiss as well._

"_Are you both ready?" he asked, in prime position to push both of his little sisters on the swings. Tali cheered and Ziva nodded. He pulled both of them back at the same time and then released them simultaneously. He gave each one an alternating push before Ziva started to pump her legs to gain momentum on her own. "Tali, do you see what Ziva is doing?" he asked, drawing the girl's attention to her big sister. _

"_Try it, Tali," Ziva called to her as she climbed higher and higher. Ziva pumped harder and harder, losing herself in the weightless feeling that made her feel as though she were flying. "Just like this…"_

* * *

Ziva opened her eyes slowly, comforted by the fact that this already painful memory had not gone any further. She took a few deep breaths, trying to override the pain in her chest from reliving such an emotional day, and felt Tony come up next to her and begin to rub her good arm slowly. "How long was I asleep?" she asked.

"A few hours," he said gently. "They brought you lunch if you're interested, though I'm relatively sure it may only make you worse," he said bitterly.

She made a face in response and motioned for him to help her sit up, which he did. "I have to get out of here," she said dismally, looking around her room and cringing.

"Doctor said maybe tomorrow—if you show progress," he warned.

"What progress is there to make?" she asked defiantly. "The only progress that is _actual_ progress will occur when I have the use of my left arm back," she announced stubbornly.

"Well at this point they'd settle for you not lying about you're pain level," he accused, staring her down.

She chortled, disgusted. "I have handled more pain than this, Tony. I do not need a doctor plying me with medication."

"Well in order for them to release you they're going to have to have some reasonable assurances that you'll follow the required rehab regiment," he said, picking through the tray of hospital food with notable distaste. "—i.e. the meds, the rest, and any physical therapy that you may or may not need. So eat your Jell-O, and when the doctor asks you how you are…" he told her, handing over the red gelatin with a cockiness that Ziva found as irritating as she did attractive. "…make sure to smile."

* * *

An hour later Ziva's nurse came in looking altogether _too_ chipper for Ziva's current mood. She introduced herself as Alicia and told Ziva that they were going to clean her up, tend to the wounds, and redress them without making Ziva look like the mummy she currently did look like. _That_ did make Ziva feel a little better. And seeing as how Alicia said it would take about an hour or so to do, Ziva made Tony promise to go home and do what he needed to do—get cleaned up, change, etc—and only come back if he absolutely needed to. Tony agreed to the first and second requests but left saying he'd see her in an hour.

"Your boyfriend is very devoted," Alicia commented as she helped Ziva maneuver around the bathroom.

"He's my partner," she clarified, not mincing words. "But he is very good to me," she agreed, silently thanking him for being there for her the past two days.

"Alright, let's take a look," Alicia mumbled, removing the bandage that completely covered Ziva's left arm. "Well, the smaller wounds look to be healing up nicely," she commented, and Ziva could see all the little cuts and holes in her skin from where she was pelted with the broken glass of the storefront door. She could feel the air hitting her newly-exposed flesh and it felt both refreshing and annoying at the same time. And then Ziva could feel her skin start to crawl as the itchiness started—meaning that they were indeed healing. Alicia used medical scissors to keep cutting her way through the layers of gauze. Ziva could tell when she was approaching the site of the severed artery because a sudden pain shot through her arm and she winced noticeably. "Morphine must be wearing off…I'll get—"

"No," Ziva told her gently. "It is not that bad, I just was not prepared." She nodded encouragingly. "I am now. Please, continue."

Alicia looked at her skeptically but she kept going and finally removed the dressing entirely. It felt good to Ziva to be freed from her constraints, and the scars did not look too bad. She deduced that the smaller ones would not be there for long, and the surgical scar should fade enough after time. The sutures over her eye were going to be tricky, but the laceration was so close to her eyebrow that should it be noticeable it would not look horrific. "Some vitamin E oil and cocoa butter should help these fade quickly," Alicia told her, noticing her appraising look. Ziva nodded in thanks and held still as Alicia applied what appeared to be plastic wrap over her wound. "So we don't cause any further damage," Alicia explained.

When Ziva was all sealed up, Alicia helped her into the shower, warning her that it was going to feel very weird against her skin, and that under no circumstances was she to allow the spray to come near her left side. There was a chair on which Ziva sat so she would not have to maneuver around the shower because she had only one arm with which to bath herself. Ziva ran the washcloth under the spray, which was locked at minimal water pressure, she noted, and ran it all over her body—at least, all the places she could reach. She wasn't allowed to run her head under the spray because she could not avoid her left side, so she had to use a cup to wet down her hair. It was tedious and annoying, and Ziva found herself cursing the process more than once. Additionally, Alicia had warned her that soap or shampoo would sting quite badly if it got into her wounds, so the shampoo Ziva used was very mild and could not rightfully be called _shampoo_. But it was all she had, so she ignored the sanitary smell of it and did her best to wash her hair with what she had. The entire process took forty minutes; Ziva was exhausted, and her arm was throbbing.

Alicia helped her dry off and get dressed. The kind nurse had brought Ziva a pair of scrub bottoms to wear beneath the flimsy hospital gown and Ziva thanked her sincerely. Alicia brought her back to the hospital bed and helped her get in. Ziva noticed that there were fresh linens on it, and she felt a little better with all this cleanliness surrounding her now. Alicia swabbed Ziva down in antibacterial salve and then covered the largest two wounds—her arm and her eye—with the necessary bandages. Ziva was a lot less mummy now, and she was grateful for small favors. Alicia brought her a comb and Ziva used her good arm to run it through her hair. Alicia put socks on Ziva's feet, settled the table by her side, and reconnected the IV to the saline drip that also brought Ziva her antibiotics and morphine.

Ziva thanked Alicia sincerely and the nurse left her tucked in bed feeling much better than she had before. Ziva gave in and hit the Morphine button once to take the edge off. The next thing she knew Tony was in the big chair next to her eating something that smelled delicious and watching an old movie on the television. "What are you eating?" she asked him, her mouth watering. She was hungry now and the idea of non-hospital food only increased her hunger.

He swallowed what was in his mouth and licked his lips dramatically. "Strictly contraband," he said, taking another bite. "However, I could be convinced to share with the patient, if the patient in question so chooses."

"She so chooses," Ziva said, attempting to sit up on her own and succeeding for once.

Tony went to a large brown bag and pulled out two wrapped packages. "Philly Cheese Steak, extra cheese, extra steak," he said waving her favorite sandwich around it the air, "and a piece of chocolate cake," he added, indicating the second package. He put them both down on the rolling table and wheeled it over to her. "Now, I checked with your doctor, who said you were _not_ to have any of these things," he rolled his eyes. "—_but_ that if for some reason you _did_ get a hold of these forbidden foods that you were to eat slowly and to take small bites."

She nodded in agreement and held out her hand for the food. Tony opened up the sandwich for her and wrapped one half in a napkin before giving it to her. She reached out for it, and he held it back. "Slowly," he ordered, quite serious.

"Slowly," she agreed, and wrapped her hand around the sandwich. She took a small bite, as promised, and sighed in contentment. "Oh, thank God," she announced, happy to have real food in front of her.

"You're quite welcome, my child, but you can call me Tony," he joked, happy when he saw her smile.

Ziva ate her food happily—no matter how slow the pace at which she was allowed to eat it. She was clean, she was fed, and she wasn't in that much pain now that she'd given in to the Morphine drip. In fact, Ziva was so overjoyed to be feeling better that she didn't even mind listening to Tony lecture her on the cinematic influence of Frank Capra. She was only half-listening anyway, but for once, it was not annoying her.

She watched the end of the movie with Tony in silence, just content to be there with him without the awkwardness that had been there before she'd nearly gotten blown up. They still had things to work out and conversations to have, but Ziva had faith that no matter what, with regard to Tony, everything would be okay. It was the rest of her life that made her want to bury herself under the covers and not come up for a while. She sighed despite her good mood, and Tony turned off the TV, surprising her.

He turned the chair around so he was facing her once again, and he put his feet up on the other chair. "You wanna talk about it?" he asked her, folding his hands across his stomach.

"Talk about what?" she asked, her stomach lurching a little at the sudden disturbance in her relatively peaceful thoughts.

"Whatever it is that has you sighing so loudly," he said, only a trace of humor in his voice. "I mean, I know you and I have to talk—"

"—Tony," she attempted to interrupt, but he just talked over her.

"—a conversation, by the way, that I am not only willing to have, but am fully prepared for—"

"—Tony," she tried again.

"—but I'm guessing _that's_ not what has you so preoccupied," he finally finished.

She sighed again, damning him for his perceptiveness when it came to her. She shook her head. "You are right, Tony—but I very much wish _not_ to talk about it."

He nodded his understanding. "I completely understand," he said…a little _too_ quickly for Tony in Ziva's opinion. He took a breath as his _let me just ask you this one question_ expression came over his face. "This conversation you don't want to have—which we won't have," he hurried on to say, completely transparent in his attempt to get her to speak about what she most obviously did not want to. "…it's got to do with that phone call Gibbs helped you dodge earlier, right?"

She stayed silent, knowing that no matter what she said—or _didn't_ say, in this case—he would not be letting this go anytime soon. _Fine then,_ she decided. _He__ can do all the talking he wants…_

He took in her silent stance and smiled triumphantly "I'm right, aren't I?" he asked childishly. She scowled. "Oh, I'm _totally_ right!" he cheered. "So much for your poker face, Miss Ziva David," he added on obnoxiously. Then he sobered and touched his hand to hers. "Seriously, Ziva, what's going on?"

_Oh, fine_, she relented. "If I am officially admitted into a hospital for more than twelve hours due to injuries sustained while on duty, Director Shepard is obligated to notify—"

"—Mossad," Tony finished for her, finally putting the pieces together.

She nodded stiffly. "Yes. The call I—_dodged_," she said, mimicking Tony's earlier inquiry, "…was from my father," she finished softly. "And _that_ is where this conversation ends, Tony."

"I'd say it's more like where it _begins_, Zee-vah," he said, his words sparring but his eyes and tone telling her that he wasn't going to let her get off that easily.

"What is it that you want me to say, Tony?" she asked, exasperated.

He shrugged casually, a smarmy grin on his face. "Well, let's start with the truth and we can work up to the lies later on," he jibed.

"And just what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"I'm not sure exactly," he mused, "But it sure sounded good."

Injured arm or no, she was about ten seconds from beating the crap out of him. "If I had something heavy to throw at you, DiNozzo, I would be watching you bleed on the floor right now."

"See?" he asked, nonplussed. "Now _that_ was a truth. Very good, Ziva," he said patronizingly as he patted her hand before she whisked it from his grasp. "Now, why don't you tell me why you don't want to talk to your father…"

"It is none of your _business_, Tony," she argued.

He cocked his head to the side and make an annoying _error_ noise. "Eh, eh! Let's ask the judges…Oh, I'm sorry, contestant, that answer is not acceptable. Please try again."

"There is no point in talking with my father, Tony! I should not be wasting my time with it," she huffed.

"Ah, see?" he said, his voice menacing. "Now _that_ was a lie, Ziva." She blinked, surprised. "But that's okay—I said we'd work our way there, and now we have." He nodded to her. "So, now you can tell me the _real_ reason."

She did not respond immediately, taking the time to weigh the pros and cons of continuing this conversation. "I do not get along well with my father, Tony…not anymore," she said, after thinking about it for a moment.

He nodded sympathetically, understanding pervading his tone. "I'm the poster-child for paternal disappointment, Ziva; I'm not sure I can even _remember_ the last time I had a substantive conversation with my old man."

"It is not…I am not…It was _I_ who cut off communication, Tony. Something with which my father takes great issue." She sighed, tired of this subject and yearning for the peace that encompassed the room just minutes before. "I do not react well when speaking with him," she said, licking her dry lips. "…as you well know," she whispered, remembering how she'd reacted that day in MTAC.

"Yeah, well, if memory serves he wasn't exactly a prime example of prize behavior either," he said darkly. "But…" he said, trailing off rather unsure of whether what he was about to say was necessarily the wisest of moves.

"No 'buts,'" she argued, slashing the air with her one good arm.

"_However_," he said, mocking her with his tone, "He _is_ your father, and he obviously wants to make sure that you're alright. So you two don't get along; that doesn't prevent you from letting him hear you tell him that you're okay." She sighed, mostly because she knew he was right…and she hated _his_ being right almost as much as he hated it when _she_ was. "Ya know—that high road and all."

Ziva sighed, damning him once again, this time for making a logical and reasonable point. "Point taken," she said, nodding. "I will not avoid his call again," she said, feeling more like a scolded child than anything else at that moment.

"There. See? Now, was that so hard?" He sat back in his chair and put his folded hands behind his head with a cocky sigh and grin. "I knew you'd see it my way…"

She chortled. "You are unbelievable, Tony," she said bitterly.

"What?" he asked, playing the innocent.

"You do not have a problem with this habit of yours?" she asked a little testy.

"And what habit would that me, Miss David?"

"This…this…licking someone while they are down!" she yelled, motioning to herself and the hospital room.

He sat back up again, barely concealing his grin, and cleared his throat. "First of all, as much as I would absolutely _love_ to _lick_ you right now, Ziva," he said, practically purring in her ear, "The expression is _kicking_ someone when they are down, and _second _of all," he hurried on to explain, suddenly angry about her accusation, "I would _never_ do that to you! That right there was me being me, something you damn well know, but you're tweaked about your father, and about me pushing you about it, and probably also about the five-hundred pound gorilla in the room, so it's just easier to take it out of my flesh than to actually cop to it, right?" She didn't say anything. "And that's fine…because you almost got blown up yesterday, you're lying here in pain, though you won't admit it, and you have to deal with your father sooner or later—not to mention that there is still the as-of-yet unresolved issue of you and me—so you go ahead and be pissed, but just make sure that you remember that I'm not here for kicks, Ziva!"

"I _know_ that!" she screamed at him, insulted that he'd think such a thing. _You just accused him of something equally inane_, her conscience reminded her.

"I _know_ you _know_ that!" he screamed back. Then he stopped and realized that he had no idea what they were fighting about anymore. "What the hell are we fighting about?" he asked, completely perplexed, but still screaming nonetheless.

"You are an ass!" she said.

"And you're just as stubborn as one," he deadpanned, pushing his chair back and standing up angrily.

She growled and balled her good hand into a fist. She couldn't take it anymore. She'd been deluding herself into thinking that she could get through her stay in the hospital with his help while _not_ thinking about the issues they had to deal with. Yes, it had been nice and quite comforting having him there; he was familiar and he knew her and what she needed—but the tension of everything else from her father, to her dreams, to this large question mark hanging over their collective heads was just too much to keep bottled up. She sighed, and looked down at her lap. "Why are you still here, Tony?" she whispered finally.

"What?" he asked, out of breath and shocked at the question. "What do you mean?"

"It is a Thursday, Tony; you should be at work, not here with me. And I know Gibbs would not give you off just to baby-sit me, so why are you still here?"

"Because you almost got blown up," he spat at her, incredibly angry that she couldn't see what was right in front of her. _You haven't even told her yet, you idiot_, he chastised himself. _You're going to punish her for not being able to read your mind?_ his mind taunted him. _She's right—you __are__ an ass…_

"I _know_ I was almost blown up; I was there!"

"So was I!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and sighed heavily…softening. "I rammed head-on into that wall when it exploded. I was stunned by Paula's death, Ziva, absolutely _stunned_—and it lasted all of five seconds, because the next thing I heard was a LEO screaming for a bus…and everything stopped. Because I _knew_—I just knew…and then I ran." He was very emotional, and he paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. "When I saw you lying there on the street, everything just _stopped_." He swallowed hard, thinking back on that moment with a heavy heart. "I'm _here_ because in that moment I knew that I wouldn't be able to stand it if anything happened to you—if I lost you," he whispered, coming back over to her and sitting on the edge of the bed. He brushed his fingertips lightly over the wound over her eye and curled her hair behind her ear, looking into her eyes. "And I'm _still_ here," he explained, "because I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you," he finally managed, smiling and laughing to himself at the position they'd finally found themselves in. "…which means I'm not going anywhere." And then he kissed her.

His lips brushed gently over hers, ever-mindful of her cuts and bruises. His kiss was so light at first that his breath tickled her senses in what, in the end, was a sensual caress of sorts. Ziva brought her good hand up to his face in response, urging him closer, completely lost in the power of his words. _I cannot believe he said that_, she thought, both panicked and ecstatic at the same time. But nothing, not panic or worry, could keep her from reveling in the feel of his lips on hers. It was like a magical remedy, instantly fixing whatever had her stomach in knots or her head spinning out of control. He grounded her, she realized, as she brought him in even closer, her fingers trailing through the hair she loved to touch. And she loved him too…

* * *

**Okay, so what did you all think? I'm pretty sure that you're not hating this chapter, right? Hehe...**

**Well, you'll definitely like where it's going from here...lots of fluff and lots of drama; visitors, weired cases, cover-ups, and as you all well-know, a birthday party!**

**So, I'm looking for a major boost to get me in writing-mode, so if I can persuade all of you to just drop a quick review in...even if it's a tiny little thing letting me know I still have readers, I'd really, _really_ appreciate it.**

**Thanks for reading, and thank you to everyone who responded with helpful ideas for my small problem--you're all ACES!**

**Bye, for now!  
**


	21. Making Tracks

**Title:** Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

**Author:** ChelseaDaggerCinderella

**Summary:** Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

**Author's Note:**

**So, tonight's the long-awaited season finale (like all of you don't already know that, right?), and as such, I'm posting this chapter in honor of tonight's most likely squeal-worthy events (whether from joy or frustration I know not yet). I'm going on vacation Friday and I won't be back for a little over two weeks. I'll have my laptop with me, of course, and I'll be writing while away (hopefully), and I'll try to post a chapter while I'm away to help fill the void on Tuesday nights.**

* * *

"You do not have to open my door for me, Tony," she barked at him as he helped her out of the car at the curb in front of her apartment building. As soon as her feet hit the pavement she began to walk briskly to her door, aggravated despite herself.

He closed the door behind her and locked it with the remote, a curious look crossing over his face. "I always open your door for you, Ziva," he argued as he jogged to catch up to her, took out her keys, and unlocked her apartment door. He swept his hand across the threshold. "Ladies first," he told her chivalrously, proving his point, and only aggravating her further.

"Yes," she hissed at him through clenched teeth as she entered her apartment. After three days by her bedside Tony hadn't separated himself from her since they left the hospital. When she signed her discharge papers, he was there; when she received her final orders from the doctor, he was there; when the orderlies wheeled her from the hospital like an invalid—he was there. She was grateful for his assistance, and she loved that he cared so much, but he seemed to be unable to let her out of his sight for even a moment. He was also treating her as though she were a porcelain doll liable to break easily if overtaxed or asked to do any sort of physical activity in the least. "But you do not usually hover over me like a mother goose, Tony," she said.

"_Hen_, Ziva—the expression is hovering like a mother _hen_. Tony put her bag down on the couch, removed his coat, and then made a move to help her off with her own coat. If Ziva had _actually_ been able to extricate herself without his assistance, she would have shrugged off his help. But he'd insisted on her wearing the sling she was relegated to use for the next few weeks _over_ her coat—no matter how ridiculous or impractical it was—so she would not be cold from the gap it would create between her body and the jacket. Thus, she was unable to remove herself from the booby-trap, and instead, she found herself gritting her teeth as he removed the sling and then her coat with kid-gloves, all the while fancying himself the gentlemen of gentlemen. "Mother Goose wrote nursery rhymes for children," he clarified.

Ziva scowled and rolled her eyes. "Oh, whatever!" she growled. "The point is that you are being especially annoying, and are, in fact, driving me crazy!"

Tony inclined his head a few degrees and smirked with his eyes. "My apologies, _dear_," he told her, stressing the endearment to make the point that she was overreacting a little.

Ziva shook her head and sighed audibly. "I am sorry, Tony," she told him in a softer tone. "I am…" she shook her head again, trailing off without finishing her sentence.

He brought his right hand up to cup the side of her face. "I know," he said sympathetically, understanding completely. She nodded her thanks to him and they stayed like that for a moment. Until Tony reverted back to…well, Tony. "Life can be tough when you're discharged without the morphine," he jibed lightly. She brought back her right hand and punched him in the shoulder. "Ow!" he screeched at her, rubbing the now-tender spot on his arm.

"That is what you get, Tony!" she huffed, indignant. "And for your information, I could give a rat's butt about the morphine. I did not want the morphine to _begin_ with; I will survive perfectly fine with plain old Tylenol."

He laughed skeptically and ignored her verbal misstep. "So I'm supposed to believe that withdrawal is _not_ to blame for this lovely mood we're currently enjoying?" he asked her, amusement evident in his voice.

Ziva wasn't amused. "No, Tony. My_ mood_ is the result of being stuck in a hospital for three days with nothing to do but avoid my lunch!" she screamed.

He clucked his tongue and shook his head. "First of all, I object to the 'with nothing to do' accusation. I worked very hard to make sure that you always had something to watch—and to eat for that matter—and having said that, I too just spent three straight days in the hospital—sleeping in a chair, I might add—and I'm not _nearly_ as edgy as you are."

She nailed him with her stare. "That is because _you_ are not staring down the barrel of spending the next two weeks riding a desk, and doing Probie-work, Tony."

His amusement disappeared then and the over protectiveness that was driving Ziva crazy came roaring back to life as he shot her a reprimanding look. "The doctor said three to five weeks, Ziva. Three if you follow his orders _explicitly_; he didn't say anything about two."

"I always aim to finish ahead of deadlines, Tony," she said smugly. "Why should this be any different?"

He looked at her sternly. "You mess with doctor's orders and that arm isn't going to heal right. And then you'll be staring down the barrel of a _much_ longer tenure riding a desk, Ziva," he said seriously, worried that she was going to push herself too far and only make the situation worse.

"His rules are ludicrous," she argued. "According to his _instructions_," she spat, "I would not even be allowed to _type_ with both hands, Tony!"

"Correction," he said, stressing the word and slipping into his _team-leader-giving-orders_ voice. "_Cannot_ and _will_ not type, Officer David," he ordered.

Ziva seethed, used her right arm to grab a hold of him, and used her body weight to push him back into the wall. She got right up into his face. "Do not try my patience, Tony," she warned him menacingly.

He chuckled mercilessly and then pushed her back against the far wall none-too-gently, smiling menacingly in his own right when he saw a look of surprise cross her face. "And do not try _mine_," he told her meaningfully. Then he promptly covered her mouth with his own, effectively ending the argument…for now.

* * *

Tony drove Ziva to work the next morning as she was not cleared to drive a car due to her restricted movement, something that, of course, only fueled the Mossad Liaison's annoyance and tension-level. "All I said was that you could have made that light, Tony," Ziva mentioned as they stepped off the elevator and into the squad room.

"I was a block away!" he contested, tired of this fight already. He threw his bag behind his desk and jerked out of his jacket, already irritated and it was only 0700. He turned around and took a step towards Ziva, intent on helping her out of her jacket as he had _been_ doing, but stopped short when he thought about how odd that would look. Ziva and he had only had brief discussions about how their new and official relationship would mesh with their obligations at NCIS. They'd long ago agreed to put the work first, but now that they'd been spending so much time together isolated and away from prying eyes, they had to readjust their automatic reactions and behaviors.

_Apparently, it's just me that's having an issue now_, he thought as he observed Ziva wiggle out of her coat, rather efficiently, he noted. _She has been yelling at me to stop hovering_, he reminded himself thoughtfully. Perhaps he _had_ been a little…presumptuous in his estimations of Ziva's capabilities while injured.

She sat down at her desk as she always did and booted up her computer. She seemed to be Ziva-as-usual, but Tony knew she was silently fuming about having to wear the sling. She said it made her look weak. Tony told her it made her look _injured_ and that anyone who was delusional enough to think of Ziva as _weak_ in any way, shape, or form, would wholly deserve the punishment he'd get from her if said person attempted to use that to his or her advantage. That had seemed to placate her for the foreseeable present.

"Ziva!" McGee cheered. "Welcome back!" He came over to her desk and gave her a gentle hug, which was really more of an awkward squeeze because of Ziva's arm.

"Easy, Probie," Tony warned, not looking up from his computer. "Jay-bird's got a wrecked wing," he joked, flapping his arm and chuckling to himself. When he didn't hear a response from either McGee or Ziva, he knew Ziva was glaring at him—so he opted _not_ to look up.

"It's good to have you back in here, Ziva," McGee told her sincerely, eyeing Tony disapprovingly.

Ziva smiled at him kindly. "Thank you, McGee; it is good to be back."

"How's the arm feeling?" he asked on his way back to his desk. "Have to keep it in that sling for a while, huh?"

Ziva took a deep breath in an effort to dispel the fury that immediately bubbled up in her at the idea of being useless for three weeks.

Tony cleared his throat and turned to McGee. "Ex-nay on the ing-slay…Pro-bay," he advised the younger agent.

Ziva brought her fist down on her desk hard, making the two men startle. "I am injured, not deaf, DiNozzo!" she yelled at him as per their usual love-hate levity.

"Not mute, either," Gibbs noted as he stalked into the bullpen.

"Good morning, Gibbs," Ziva said politely, breathing to calm herself down.

"Welcome back, Ziva," he said, inclining his head and giving her a small smile. She nodded back to him in return and finished booting up her system.

"Uh, Tony," McGee said, handing him a slip of paper. "You have your psych eval with the shrink this morning," he told him.

Tony turned to McGee and glanced at him speculatively, looking him up and down. "And what time will this joyous experience be taking place, McGoo?"

"Uh," he said, checking his watch. "Well, um, now."

Tony sighed. "Cutting it a little close, there, aren't you McGee?" he asked, a little annoyed.

"Well, the Director can't clear us to return to the field without _Okays_ on the evals. And you're the last hold-out, Tony—minus Ziva, of course, but she can't be cleared for fieldwork until…" he trailed off noticing Tony's wild gesticulations. Tony made a cutting motion with his hand at his neck and pointed none-too-subtly to Ziva who was seething quietly behind her desk.

"DiNozzo, Go!" Gibbs ordered, gruffly.

"Going, boss," Tony agreed and took off for his evaluation.

"McGee, fill Ziva in," Gibbs ordered before disappearing towards the elevator.

McGee nodded once. "Right, boss."

* * *

Things had been slow for their team since the explosion. They'd all had to be cleared by both medical and psych in order for them to return to active duty and be assigned any case other than the one they had just worked to finish up. That had taken a few days, which explained why Tony had so easily managed to stay with her during her stay at Bethesda. McGee and Gibbs had been processing the scene of the second bombing during that time—the case had already been long closed, but they needed the facts and evidence in order to officially close the file. And then there was the matter of Paula's autopsy and releasing her body back to her family in California.

Ziva had to write out her after-action report, as well as her incident report for everything that had occurred _prior_ to the explosion. Evidently, there was a whole _other_ report she got the privilege of filing for getting caught up in the bombing and being hospitalized for three days. So Ziva was just over-the-moon by the time she'd finished her case notes and began to move on to her incident report for the shootout at Kertek Computing. She was forty minutes into her endless paperwork—that took all the longer because of the doctor's ridiculous moratorium on her using her left hand—when the elevator _dinged_ and announced its arrival from the ground floor.

Right about the time she realized that it was going to take her three times as long to accomplish her task—prompting a string of rather unique curses aimed at her computer—Gibbs looked up from his own station to a point just beyond Ziva's desk. "Can I help you with something?" he asked the man standing there.

Ziva looked up, distracted from her verbal attack on her computer, and almost gasped—but she managed to rein it in at the last moment. She stood up as the man came toward her, a less than happy look gracing his features. "Shalom, Ziva," he said, nodding to her in greeting.

"Michael," she greeted in return, her brain running through all the possible reasons for his presence there. The most obvious reason, of course, was that her father had sent him in light of recent events. "I would ask what you are doing here, but I think that would be a wasted effort on both our parts," she told him bluntly.

"Obviously," he said, mildly amused at her straight-forwardness. "You were injured, and fathers do tend to worry about their daughters. But did you actually expect anything less, Ziva?"

"I suppose not," she agreed grudgingly.

"Ziva," Gibbs said simply, coming up next to her, his eyes appraising Michael accordingly.

"Officer Michael Bashan, Senior Attache US Israeli Embassy," she said to Gibbs motioning between the two men. "Michael, Special Agents Gibbs and McGee." Gibbs nodded to Michael and shook his hand, and McGee followed suit shortly thereafter.

She saw Michael's eyes glance around the squad room and she inwardly cringed. _A perfect opportunity to collect information for my father_, she decided, thankful that Tony was still with the psychiatrist.

"To what do we owe the pleasure, Officer Bashan?" he asked in classic Gibbs style—charming, but giving away nothing.

"Director David became quite concerned with his daughter's well-being after the phone call Mossad received from your Director. He became even more concerned when he could not seem to manage to make contact with her," he said, chastising Ziva with his tone.

Gibbs shifted slightly, and Ziva could tell she was going to get it from him as well…just not now. Instead, he smiled a standoffish smile and nodded in her direction, "Tell your Director we've kept her in one piece…mostly," he joked.

"You'll forgive me, Agent Gibbs, if all evidence seems to the contrary," he stated, less than diplomatically.

Tony came from behind the crowd as he walked back into the bullpen from the other elevator. He stopped short when he saw the gathering around Ziva's desk, and became worried when he saw how Ziva's left eye dropped down a little, indicating that the situation was making her uncomfortable. "Boss?" he asked Gibbs, his eyes cutting over to Ziva and their visitor.

_Oh, wonderful!_ Ziva thought, cursing the heavens for Tony's incredibly horrid timing. Tony's arrival was like throwing fuel on the fire—it was sure to only exacerbate Michael's curiosity.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs said, his eyes never leaving their visitor. "Meet Officer Bashan of the Israeli Embassy. He's come to check up on Ziva," he informed him, his tone telling Tony that things were not all peachy-keen at the moment.

Tony appraised the man critically. He was an older man, evidenced by the wrinkles in his face and the mop of snowy-white hair that sat atop his thin, but tall, frame. He didn't look like much of a threat, physically, but if Ziva was uncomfortable then there was obviously much more than met the eye. "Anthony DiNozzo," Tony said, reaching out his hand to the older man. Michael looked him up and down with appraising eyes that cut to Ziva for a moment, presumably to judge her reaction, before cutting back to Tony and reciprocating the gesture. Gibbs cocked a curious eyebrow and then motioned for McGee, and Tony—much to the latter's chagrin—to follow him in returning to their individual desks and pretend to make themselves busy with something else.

Michael turned back to Ziva. "I presume that you are recovering nicely?" he asked diplomatically.

Ziva nodded stiffly, feeling very self-conscious of the sling that was like a neon sign flashing above her head. _She's weak—she's vulnerable_! "You presume correctly. I expect to return to unrestricted duty within the next few weeks. Feel free to tell the Director that I will make a full recovery," she said officially.

He nodded thoughtfully. "And what should I tell your father?" he asked pointedly.

Ziva literally had to bite her tongue. _Tell him to forget he __has__ a daughter, Michael—it should be easy, he's practiced for it all his life. Tell him to back off and to stop interfering in my life, Michael—he has no right. Tell him to take a hint, Michael—I have no interest in speaking with the man._ There were so many things she wanted to tell her father, but none of those things were messages that she actually ever could give him. So, she cleared her throat and looked at Michael decisively. "Tell him—that I am sorry I did not call myself."

Michael nodded sadly and stepped forward to hug her gently. She caught Tony's eye as Michael did so and judging from the look she saw in there, she must not have been doing a good job of containing her feelings of anxiety. Michael stepped back and whispered his wishes for good health by way of a goodbye, and made his way back towards the elevator with his NCIS escort trailing behind him.

* * *

"Ziva!" Gibbs yelled, making tracks for the elevator. "With me!"

Tony shot her a look as she jogged after Gibbs, narrowly making it into the elevator before the doors closed. She could feel his annoyance from where she stood next to him and wondered whether it would be better to speak first and head him off at the pass or to wait for Gibbs to begin. She got her answer when he shut off the elevator and plunged them into darkness.

He half-turned to face her. "Something I should know about, Officer David?"

"It was not premeditated, Gibbs."

"Three days—no contact. Sounds pretty deliberate to me, Ziva."

"He called and I avoided it, yes; but he never phoned again."

"And did _you_ try calling?" he asked knowingly, his tone leading, but not admonishing.

Ziva shifted awkwardly and looked away, this not being a favorite topic of hers. "These days, thoughts about calling my father are not high on my list of priorities." He gave her a skeptical look and she took a deep breath to show she was serious. "I was not deliberately avoiding him, Gibbs. Yes, I did not _want_ to talk to him, but if he had called again I would have spoken with him." She turned to face him fully, her fury at her father overtaking her. "The fact that he did not call again means only that he saw this as an opportunity to further encroach upon my life. Sending Michael here was not the act of a worried father, Gibbs; it was a reconnaissance mission, and you know it." She sighed and straightened her spine. "Even if I had answered his first call he still would have sent Michael. My injuries were his perfect excuse…"

"You really believe that?" he asked, coming around to her way of looking at things.

"I do," she said confidently.

He waited a beat, then reached out to flip back the emergency switch, and leaned over to whisper to her. "Make sure you're playing this one close to the vest, Ziva."

_Oh, goody_, she thought bitterly, _just what I needed, more secrets and games_. But she didn't have a choice. She couldn't trust her father, and Gibbs knew that. Her only option was to keep her head clear and her eyes open for anything her father may throw her way. "Understood," she said simply, and then walked back out into the squad room and returned to her desk.

* * *

Tony pulled into the parking lot of _Donnie's Pub_ and made his way to the parking space closest to the door, still fending off Ziva's objections.

"Tell me again why we are here, Tony," she asked of him tiredly. The day had begun abysmally and it hadn't ever gotten any better. She'd been stuck behind the desk all day pouring over bank records and making calls in an attempt to track down a Petty Officer who went UA three days ago. It was a menial task and she resented it greatly, but, of course, there was nothing that she could do about it.

Tony threw the car into park and shut off the engine. "Well, for starters, I have to apologize to Donnie for my behavior the last time I was here," he said pointedly, and she shrugged in agreement.

"He _did_ mention your less than pleasant demeanor," she alluded.

"And," he said, bypassing the dig, "you haven't had a very good day; Donnie always makes you laugh, you love his chili, and, plus, it's something that you can both order and eat with one hand," he told her, getting in his own dig. The only problem was that he had been busting her chops about her arm all day and her patience, thin to begin with, had begun to shred.

"Exactly how long do you intend to keep cracking one-armed-man jokes, Tony?"

"Well, technically they're one-armed-woman jokes," he corrected. "And as long as it yields such…productive results," he said meaningfully, referring to the reaction he always managed to get from her.

She gave a fake laugh and flipped her hair back before turning to him with a dangerous glint in her eye. "Am I going to have to beat you, Tony?" she asked him rhetorically.

"Why?" he asked with a wink and a growl. "Have I been a bad boy?"

Ziva cracked a smile and shook her head. "You are incorrigible, DiNozzo," she told him as they got out of the car.

He offered her his arm like a gentleman. "That's what they tell me," he chuckled and opened the door to the pub for Ziva.

Ziva smiled a true smile for the first time that day at the familiar sight before her—the pub, the fireplace, Donnie behind the bar—and then of course, there was that smell that permeated the air. It wasn't quite describable, but to Ziva it was so welcoming that she managed to forget the aggravation of the day for a moment.

"See?" Tony whispered in her ear, slightly reminiscent of their first visit. "What did I tell you?" he asked with a smile in his voice.

"That you are incorrigible," she purred back at him as he threw his arm over her shoulder.

"Well—yeah," he nodded, still smiling.

"Well it's about time!" Donnie roared from behind the bar, a large grin on his face as he dried his hands with a towel. He limped his way out from behind the bar and toddled over to Tony and Ziva with his arms outstretched. "I was sure I'd be seein' yer lot sooner than this," he said, looking at Ziva as he swatted Tony on the back roughly.

"Sorry, Donnie," Tony began. "It's been a rough week," he explained cryptically.

"Not _you_, ya git," Donnie said to Tony with a laugh. "I daresay I thought you'd be takin' yer time comin' to apologize. Had another two days left on me wager, ya fool. Now I owe Davey a tenner, don't I?" Tony stammered, unable to come up with something to say in response. Donnie gave out a hearty laugh and slapped him on the back again with a smile. He turned to Ziva, "Thought I'd be seein' ya long before now, lass. This idiot's drunk arse not withstanding, I was sure ya'd be out to visit me plenty sooner." Then he smiled at her, and winked. "But a kiss would surely fix that up," he told her.

Ziva cocked a curious eyebrow. Holding up her hand to silence Tony's rebuttal, Ziva eyed Donnie appraisingly for a moment and then smirked at him. "So could a beer," she said simply. Then she pecked him on the cheek obligingly.

Tony smirked and Donnie burst out laughing. "Oh, it's good to have ye back, lass. Ye've been missed," he told her finally.

"Oh," Ziva said, playfully. "Do not tell me; tell _him_," she advised, inclining her head in Tony's direction before walking over to take a seat in their booth, leaving Donnie to deal with a now-stammering Tony.

"Thank you, _so_ much, dear!" he yelled to her accusingly.

Ziva just laughed.

* * *

Tony watched Ziva as she picked at the last of her chili a bit distracted. He put his fork down and took a moment to just look at her. "We going to talk about it?" he asked her finally.

"Talk about what?" she asked him tiredly.

Tony gave her a hard look, not believing for a moment that she didn't know to what he was referring. If anything, he'd lay down money saying that the discussion he wished to have was already going on in her head—the reason for her preoccupation. He sighed. "Look, I'm the last person who is going to preach to you about father-child relations, but this has you really worked up, so I'm going to ask you again—your Dad really that intense? He really worth all this thought and energy?"

"Yes," she said sharply.

He looked at her sympathetically and shook his head in wonder. "What did he do to you, Ziva?" he asked, a bit awestruck by the magnitude of her intensity when speaking about him.

Ziva chuckled a little at Tony's implication that her father had inflicted some sort of trauma on her. He _had_, but not in any way remotely resembling whatever was flashing through Tony's head. She sighed and shook her head. "My father was very rarely ever around, Tony. He did not have time to do anything to me—not like I am sure you are thinking. He is just not someone whom I trust to have my best interests at heart," she finished crisply, wishing the conversation to end. "Now, I would really rather we not discuss this further…"

"Okay," he said, giving in to her wishes and picking up his fork again. He speared one of his last pieces of steak and brought it to his mouth, but stopped half way, dropping the fork back to the table. "Just tell me one thing…" he began. She shot him an aggravated look. "Not about your father," he hurried on to explain. "Today. What's the deal with your visitor? From the embassy."

Ziva rolled her eyes. The topic was still very much related to her father, but Tony didn't know that. Accordingly though, she'd have to explain exactly what he wanted to know in order to get him to understand that concept—so she sucked it up and began to explain to him about Officer Bashan. "Michael Bashan does what my father tells him to—no matter what that something may be."

Tony guffawed. "Well did your old man tell him to stare at me with those elevator eyes of his?" he asked a little put off by the man's earlier behavior.

"Elevator eyes?" Ziva asked, unfamiliar with the expression.

"When you undress the person in front of you with only your eyes," he said, demonstrating the appraisal by moving his eyes up and down Ziva's body. "He doesn't have a thing for me, does he?" he joked. "Because _that_ would be awkward."

Ziva shook her head, amused with his way of looking at things. "He was surveying you, Tony."

"Really?" Tony asked skeptically. "He survey Gibbs like that?"

"Of course not!" Ziva laughed. "No reason to."

"And there's reason to check out _my_ fine parts? I'm flattered," he joked and then sobered. "Seriously—why do I warrant such a…_survey_?" he asked with a sense of foreboding.

Ziva hissed. "It is slightly more complicated than you would think…"

Tony leaned in, very serious. "Do tell."

Ziva sighed. She hadn't wanted to dwell on their history or all the things she'd been discovering lately, but now that she and Tony were back together she figured that he had a right to know what they were dealing with. The fact her father and that his continual meddling in her life had lead to both the issues they now had to face—as well as said issues forced unveiling by her at this rather _tense_ time in her life—was only another reason among many for which she loathed her father. "He has reason to believe that while you were team leader you were also sleeping with me," she said quickly but calmly, talking a sip of her drink.

Tony cocked an aggravated eyebrow. "Hrm, that's funny," he said bitterly. "I find myself under that impression as well; but then again, _I_ was there. I don't recall noticing an old, white-haired Israeli man anywhere," he deadpanned. "You?"

"No," she said, a little bitter herself. This was bringing up a bitter memory that seemed to be striking a nerve on all parts. "But then again, I also do not recall the Mossad surveillance team that was watching us either—but it was there…"

He brought his fist down on the table, having completed his transition from aggravated to angry rather quickly. "Excuse me?" he asked her dangerously.

"Calm down, Tony!" Ziva ordered. "He has nothing of substance with which to make any claim—only a few photographs of you visiting my apartment and a theory. Nothing more." Tony didn't look appeased. "He will not say anything, Tony; it would be too embarrassing," she said, her eyes downcast.

"For _him_?" he asked her incredulously.

"No." Ziva cracked her neck. "For the man who ordered the surveillance," she clarified pointedly.

It took Tony a moment, but he _did_ catch on; and once he did so, his shoulders relaxed a little bit as understanding washed over him. "No wonder you're so tweaked about your father…"

Ziva chortled. "Blip of the iceberg," she said to him.

Tony rolled his eyes but he didn't correct her—he understood perfectly. "When did you find out?" he asked suddenly.

She looked at him curiously but answered him. "When the Iranians were attempting to frame me," she said simply.

"And when were you planning on telling me?" he asked, his look of aggravation coming back.

"I had no such plans," she said, annoyed with his tone.

"Well, why the hell _not_?" he demanded.

"We were not together anymore, Tony. Michael was not going to say anything, and once I knew about the tail I knew to look for it—as I do now…everyday," she said pointedly. "There was no point in creating a problem for you where none existed," she explained calmly and logically.

"How chivalrous of you," he said petulantly.

"Let it go, DiNozzo; we have bigger things to worry about right now."

"Like _what_?" he asked her, slightly baffled.

"Like how to prevent Gibbs from finding out," she whispered vehemently, referring to their closed-door relationship.

He shrugged and spread out his arms, very cocky. "We did it before; we'll do it again."

"_Before_," she said pointedly, "_You_ were team leader, Tony, and not likely to take issue with our relationship." She paused and sighed loudly. "Things are different now, Tony, and you know it."

"You mean because now Gibbs is back with his rules, his gut, and his incredible ability to know everything about you with only one withering stare? Because last time we didn't do this with Gibbs watching our every move?" he summarized.

"Yes," she said quietly.

Tony took a sip of his beer and shrugged again, shaking his head in futility. "Yeah, that'll take some thought…"

**

* * *

So, may I ask that you all join me prayer that tonight's episode is not too painful for all of us TIVA fans? **

**PS. Does anyone else think that the whole Ziva-Killed-Ari storyline is about to bubble to the surface? **

**Cuz they didn't throw that picture of Ari, Ziva, and Tali crashing to the floor of Ziva's apartment in there for nothing, right? NCIS never does **_**anything**_** for the hell of it. That's why I love it—everything has meaning. **

**Let me know what you think, and what you think of the chapter. Later!**


	22. Revelations

**Title:** Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

**Author:** ChelseaDaggerCinderella

**Summary:** Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

**Author's Note:**

**Okay, here's the next installment. Spoilerific rant about the finale at the end.**

* * *

Ziva reached up behind her head with her right hand and pulled apart the Velcro that secured the sling around her neck, sighing with relief at being free of the constraint as well as a being free of the pressure on her neck. She slid it slowly from her arm, and tossed it onto the chair in the corner. "Freedom," she breathed dramatically.

"It's only for the night," Tony reminded her from his place on his side of the bed.

"Yes," she agreed begrudgingly, crawling into bed gently, clad only in a long NCIS t-shirt. "However, the only time I am to remove it is when I sleep—so you will just have to forgive me if I get excited before bed, Tony."

Tony screwed up his face, a little offended. "_That's_ the reason you get excited before crawling into bed with me every night?"

"For the next few weeks it is," she said, laughing at the face he made. She dropped a quick kiss on his lips and snuggled in beneath the covers, rolling to her right and closing her eyes. "Goodnight, Tony."

"_Goodnight, Tony?_" he huffed, his voice squeaky with astonishment. "Seriously?!"

* * *

Ziva woke up a little after two in the morning, covered in sweat and breathing heavily. She'd had another night terror. Ever since the explosion she'd been reliving her childhood memories of Ari only to have him die before her suddenly—usually very angry and dying from wounds she herself had inflicted. Ziva took a deep breath as she swung her legs out of bed and got up to wash her face in the bathroom.

The cool water felt good against her hot skin, but nothing she did could make her feel any better inside. Her dreams had been getting increasingly more intense. At first, she had just been reliving the shooting; then she began to relive the shooting with her evil doppelganger taunting her; and now she was slowly being tortured, forced to remember all the _good_ things about her brother—about how much he loved her and she loved him—before she'd be forced, once again, to blow his head off.

She was a strong woman—hard-headed, stubborn, righteous, dedicated, and determined not to show weakness—but there was only so much pressure even _she_ could withstand before the dam broke wide open and the flood waters drowned her.

Tony appeared beside her, clad only in a pair of black sweatpants, his chest bare to her eyes. "You okay?" he asked. His voice was groggy from sleep. He moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, his head gently resting on top of hers, effectively surrounding her body with his.

She leaned back into him. "Did I wake you?" she asked him, his presence quieting her anxiety a bit.

He shook his head. "Woke up and you weren't there," he clarified. "Something wrong?"

She leaned her head back against his chest and closed her eyes, sighing. "Bad dream. Nothing to worry about, though," she assured him. "Except, of course, that I now require a shower," she added bitterly.

"Now?" he asked, thinking it a little strange. "Clock's set for zero-five; you don't want to try to get some more sleep?"

She shook her head and moved out of his arms to start the shower. "I have my appointment to see Lieutenant Alexander at Bethesda this morning."

"Right," he said, scrubbing the sleep from his face as he yawned. "Removing your stitches…"

"Not _all_ of them," she said pointedly as she handed him the plastic covering she used to keep her arm dry when she bathed.

"Hey now, none of that," he scolded jokingly as he wrapped it around her arm gently and made sure it was secure. "You made it through last week with almost relative ease…" she gave him a skeptical look. "…Minus a few violent outbursts." He shot her a silly smile and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. "Think of it this way—one week down, only another two to four to go," he said with a wink, laughing when he heard her groan.

"You are _not_ helping, Tony…"

* * *

Ziva waited very patiently in the procedure room. She'd never gone back to sleep so she was taking advantage of being able to close her eyes and relax while she waited for the naval doctor who had operated on her to join her. She must have dozed off because the next thing she knew Lieutenant Alexander was staring at her with an amused expression on his face.

"Sorry," she apologized, sitting up straight on the exam table.

He waved it off. "No worries; I apologize for the wait, Officer David," he told her with a friendly smile.

"Ziva," she corrected, placing her palm to her chest.

He nodded once in thanks. "How're you doing, Ziva? Any troubles? Any undue pain?"

She shook her head as he examined her arm. "Not at all—outside of the inconvenience," she told him pointedly.

"Not liking the desk, I see," he commented with a smile.

"It is not my cup of tea," she said in a clipped tone. "I am used to being more useful. And the sling prevents me from doing even desk work efficiently," she complained bitterly. "Typing for instance…" she hinted.

He examined the arm, had her extend it as far as she could, and tested her reflexivity. "Well, your range of motion seems good, and you say you're not in pain—I'd say you could take the sling off to _type_," he told her with a wink. "But don't overdue it," he went on to warn her. "If you put too much strain on it too quickly, you'll set yourself back with some less-than-_convenient_ results. Understood?"

She nodded. "Understood."

"Alright then," he said, sitting on a short stool on wheels and sliding back over to her. "By my count, we have three stitches to remove from your side, four to remove from your forearm, and a whopping _twelve_ stitches to remove from the facial laceration over your eye."

"Lovely," she said dryly.

* * *

Tony had dropped her off at Bethesda on his way in to work that morning since she still was not permitted to drive. Tony had argued with her that morning, saying that he'd wait for her to be finished and then drive her to work. She told him that his heart was in the right place but that for the sake of their careers he was going to have to remove his head from his ass. They'd already pushed their luck with the time he'd spent with her at the hospital after the explosion—they didn't need to act any _more_ out of the usual than they already had. Gibbs would smell it like a bloodhound could suss out a fox on the run.

So he'd gone on to work as though everything was business as usual, and she took a cab from the hospital to the Navy Yard instead. Ziva walked out of the elevator and into the squad room a little after nine in the morning, the appointment having taken a little longer than she'd hoped. But it had gone well, Lieutenant Alexander had decided, when he saw how nicely she was healing. If she continued to apply vitamin E oil to the cut above her eye then it shouldn't scar too badly, if at all. She was lucky—in the spy game, the less identifying features the better.

"You're late," Tony noted smugly, and mostly for show. What he really meant was: _that took longer than you thought it would…_

"Doctor's appointment," she said as she stowed her gear and flopped down in her chair. _Nothing new or urgent to report_.

"Everything alright?" McGee asked her, concerned.

She smiled at him. "Everything is fine, McGee; it was merely a follow-up. But thank you for asking," she said pointedly, digging at Tony, but again, mostly for show.

"Yeah, get any good news, Zee-vah?" Tony asked her, pretending to be distracted by something on his computer. _You feel like filling me in instead of leaving me hanging?_

"As a matter of fact," she said, slowly removing the sling, and trying not to laugh when she saw Tony's head whip around at the sound of the Velcro releasing. "I have been cleared…"

"Heh?" he asked her, confused and flummoxed. _Doctor said not for another few weeks. Do her ninja skills also include rapid healing?—or mind control?_

She shrugged. "…to type," she finished lamely.

Tony burst out laughing, and he banged his fist on the desk a couple of times. He wasn't trying to be mean; she just had such a proud look on her face when she told them that she'd been cleared, that the juxtaposition of that pride with her new found freedom to type just sent him over the edge.

"Something funny, DiNozzo?" Gibbs questioned as he stalked into the bullpen.

"Ziva can type, boss," he squeaked out, trying very hard to _not _laugh. It wasn't working.

"She can still shoot, DiNozzo," Gibbs reminded him, as Ziva chuckled evilly, staring him down with a look that would have made him very nervous in public, and something else in private.

So either way it had its desired effect—it shut Tony right up.

* * *

"Now, do you think John Hughes writes on a computer, or does he use an old-fashioned typewriter, like you, Probie?" Tony asked, continuing to bug him as they rode up in the elevator, having just returned from a crime scene.

McGee sighed and silently begged the elevator to go faster—either that, or for Tony to suddenly go mute. "Well, I'm sure he uses a computer, Tony. Most writers do."

"Did you ever consider converting?" Tony asked just to be difficult.

McGee was beginning to get irritable. "I don't think that's the reason for my…"

Tony grinned and pounced on the younger Agent as they exited the elevator and trekked across the squad room. "Were you going to say…writer's block?" he asked as they each rounded the corner.

"No!" McGee said fervently.

"You _were_!" Tony accused.

"Were, what?" Ziva asked, looking between the two.

"About to say 'writer's block,'" Tony tattled.

"McGee has writer's block?" she inquired, curiously, coming up beside Tony to examine McGee in tandem.

McGee shook his head. "No, McGee does not," he told her sternly.

Ziva smirked. "Just do what you did last time…write about us," she told him stiffly, obviously still a tad annoyed with him about his portrayal of her as _Officer Lisa_.

McGee huffed and threw his arms in the air. "Okay, I've told you guys a million times—the book is not about you."

"No, of course not," Tony said sarcastically, shaking his head, and smirking at Ziva. "It's about Special Agent _Tommy_…"

"And Officer _Lisa_," Ziva said, glaring at him pointedly, staring him down until Gibbs's voice shocked them all back into well-ingrained habitual action.

"Lay it out, Ziva!" Gibbs announced as he rounded the corner and came up to the plasma expectantly.

"And L.J. Tibbs," Tony whispered to McGee as they gathered to listen to all the hard work Ziva had done while they'd been on scene.

Ziva brought up images and files on the plasma and began spewing everything she'd dug up while they were bagging and tagging at the scene. "Petty Officer Cove joined the Navy three years ago, immediately after High School. I spoke with his Commanding Officer and was told that though immature, he considered Cove a _good kid_," she said, quoting the CO. "However, the Petty Officer does have a record. He was arrested twice after enlisting. Both misdemeanors. Public intoxication in 2004 and a noise ordinance violation last July."

"That it?" Gibbs asked.

"His CO _did_ tell me something else, but I did not understand its meaning. Perhaps Tony can decode the juvenile vernacular," she proposed, handing him her pad and notes.

Tony ignored the jibe and took the pad from his partner, looking down and scrutinizing the words, his tone both bored and dry. "He works to live, and lives to party," he read. He looked up, "What's so hard about that?" he asked, baffled.

She punched him in the shoulder. "The _next_ part, DiNozzo," she growled, slapping the pad for emphasis.

Tony read it and looked abashed. "Oh, uh, well, apparently the guys in his Command call him Darren 'Diddy' Cove," he said with a grin and a laugh.

Gibbs looked to Ziva for a moment, and she shrugged, indicating that she too had no clue what that meant. "Why?" he asked Tony.

"Uh, it's a reference to Sean 'Diddy' Combs, boss," McGee told him, receiving still blank looks from both he and Ziva.

"The Puff Man," Tony announced. "P-Diddy. Rap impresario. Went out with J-Lo…" he clarified, but got nothing but glaring looks—looks that were the facial equivalent of _move on or die_. "Petty Officer Cove was on duty yesterday…" Tony said, launching into the rest of the notes Ziva had written down on the notepad as she went to answer her ringing phone.

"Officer David," she said by way of greeting.

"This is Officer Newcomb, Norfolk Police. We got a hit on your BOLO, found a blue Ford Ranger license LFV 9672 abandoned along Highway Five."

"Thank you," Ziva said quickly and hung up.

"I'm going to go check the BOLO Ziva put out, see if he's got a hit on the pickup," McGee said, rounding the corner of his desk.

"That is not necessary, McGee. Norfolk Police just found it abandoned along Highway Five," she told them, proud that she'd managed to accomplish what she had even though she was sidelined, but also a little sad that she wouldn't be going out with them.

And so the team, minus Ziva, geared up and took off to check out Petty Officer Cove's missing car, leaving Ziva behind to shuffle papers and dig dirt.

_Well, at least I have my left hand back_, she thought to herself with a shake of her head.

* * *

"I believe his only solace at this point is that we stopped his crazed fan before he could kill anyone else," she told him late that night over Moo Shu and Lo Mein on the couch in front of the TV.

"Doesn't mean Gibbs still isn't planning on reaming McCopyCat for almost getting Abby killed," Tony argued. "For cryin' out loud, if you're going to write a published work about real people, the very _least_ you can do is put some effort into changing the names and the details…"

"To protect the guilty?" she asked him with a smirk.

"The innocent," he corrected. "You know—those of us who _aren't_ McGee. I hope Abby gave it to him good…" he trailed off deep in thought as he pounded his fist into his other hand.

"Well, McGee feels bad enough," she told him, looking pointedly at his clenched fists.

"Only makes it worse that he admitted it," Tony told her petulantly.

"It was no secret he was writing about us, Tony," she exclaimed, wary of his mood and baffled as to why he was taking such issue with the situation.

"Oh, come on; it's not about us!" he yelled, standing up suddenly and pacing around the room. "I mean, the whole part about Lisa and her broken heart?" he pointed out to her, still pacing, and still worrying her. "A tragedy she felt and kept hidden from her coworkers for fear of—"

"—looking weak?" she finished for him, her voice sad.

He stopped his pacing and just looked at her. "Yeah," he whispered, hanging his head.

"So, you are worried about…_Lisa_?" she asked, going along with McGee's pre-constructed aliases.

"We never really talked about it…" he alluded cryptically. He shifted his weight and put his hands on his hips. "I mean, _I_ told you why I…and what went…but we never…you never…"

She unfolded her legs from beneath her and put her carton of Lo Mein—chopsticks included—down on the coffee table. She stared at the floor for a moment and then shook her head. "What is the point of discussing it any further than we already have?" she asked him stiffly. In her opinion, they had already spoken about her feelings and emotions more than they ever _really_ needed to, and she could not understand his fascination—near obsession, really—with talking about how she had felt while he was seeing Jeanne and how she felt after she found out about it.

Tony guffawed and shook his head, intent on having the very conversation she was intent on avoiding. "That wasn't a discussion, Ziva—not nearly!"

"_No, Ziva, stop! Stop being nice to me! All throughout this all you've done is be understanding and supportive when you should be tearing me limb from limb!" he argued._

_She was completely stunned. "Is that a request?" she asked sarcastically, trying to cover her complete and utter confusion._

"_It's not funny, Ziva! I lied to you; I hurt you; I betray—"_

"_You did not betray me, Tony!" she said with brutal honesty. He went to interject but she cut him off. "Yes! Yes, you lied; and yes…you hurt me—but you did not betray me, Tony…"_

"Why are you so determined to discuss this, Tony? What possible reason could you have for—"

"—Because I'm scared you're going to resent me!" he yelled. She looked at him in shock. "If you don't talk about it now; if you don't let out whatever it is that you want to let out, then I…" He paused. "You don't like showing emotion because you think it makes you weak—okay; I accept that. But you _were_ mad when you found out and I think you still are. I'd rather you beat the crap out of me now than to have it fester within you until it's too late for us to fix." He spread his arms wide. "So let me have it."

Ziva silently fumed. _How dare he presume to know what I think…what I feel._ She was perfectly fine accepting things the way they were; she was happy with how the two of them were now. Sure, she had reservations; sure she had lingering…emotions about the way things had gone down; sure she wasn't one hundred percent sure about what went down between them over the past few months, but she was prepared to _act_ okay with it.

That's how professionals did things. She stood up and ground her teeth together. "You get _orders_, Tony. You may not like them, but you have to follow them. That is why they are called _orders_."

He stalked forward. "I wasn't following _orders_, Ziva. I was asked, and I said _yes_. I volunteered for the assignment."

She took a step forward as well. "Key word being _assignment_, Tony," she hissed at him, more angry with the fact that he was forcing the issue than she was angry about the actual _issue_.

She turned around and made a move to return to her perch on the couch. He reached out and grabbed her right elbow, stopping her in her tracks. He came up right behind her; their combined anger at the other's stubbornness permeated the atmosphere and made their bodies practically hum. He brought his mouth down so it was directly next to her ear, practically guaranteeing that she'd blow her top when he was done. "I made it more though, didn't I?"

That's when she lost it. Tony had wanted her to lash out and now he'd gotten his wish—she was pissed. She used his grip on her as leverage and twisted around so his fingers were ripped from her arm. Once free she pushed him away from her and cursed at him in Hebrew. "Idiot! What you did was the height of stupidity, Tony—on multiple levels! You were not playing a _game_; you do not let your guard down; and you do not allow yourself to _feel_ for them, Tony! She was bystander, yes, but she was still your assignment—your enemy—and you were an idiot to forget that for even a _moment_!"

She began to stalk back and forth in her living room, finally letting out what she really would have been perfectly fine leaving dormant for the rest of eternity. "And of all things, I do not know what Jenny was thinking in leaving you so open to such a misstep!" she said, more to herself than to Tony.

Tony did a double-take. He'd wanted her to start letting it out, but _that_ was something he not only didn't understand fully, but it was something that sounded like something he should take offense to. "And what the hell does that mean?" he demanded, angry for real this time.

She whirled on him. "It means that as an operative engaging in a long-term, high-stakes, and extremely intricate undercover operation, you should _not_ have been allowed to take on a persona so close to your own. Your name barely changed, your hobby and obsession became your profession, and in hiding it from the rest of us, it closed you off to the reality of the situation. All of that kept you _too_ close to Jeanne, Tony, when you should have been using your _real_ life as the anchor keeping you tethered to who _you_ are and what you were really doing! And Jenny knows all of this, Tony. The Director should have known better than to allow you such a dangerous alias! She practically set you up to fall for—" And suddenly a horrible thought occurred to both of them as sudden and wholly _un_welcome clarity set in.

She _had_ set him up…

Tony let out a breath and sat down in the arm chair at the far end of the living room as though his strings had been cut. "Well that's one way to guarantee that your inexperienced undercover operative efficiently hooks the girl," he whispered sadly.

Ziva shook her head. "Jenny would not…she…"

"To get La Grenouille," he said, nodding his head in resignation. "Yeah, she _would_ do that. And judging by what you just said," he told her, standing up and shoving his hands in his pockets, "I'm pretty sure she did."

He paced around for a while, both of them silent as they thought over all of the clues and evidence to support their current theory, and then the repercussions of said discovery. Tony sighed, scrubbed his face and sat back down on the couch. "It explains why the feud between Gibbs and the Director has gone on this long—why he's so—"

"—angry," she finished. "And likely feeling more than a little disappointed."

"Yeah, well, that last part's going around," he said quietly.

Ziva sat down on the couch, a bit more than stunned. Jenny had been her partner for four years, and though together they had pushed the limits on several occasions, and broken the rules a few more times than they'd ever willingly admit to, Ziva never thought that Jenny could be so cold and so manipulative—and so much like her father. But Ziva forced that last thought from her mind as quickly as it had popped in there. She sighed and reached her right hand out to grasp Tony's. "Yes," she said sadly, nodding in slow agreement with Tony's assessment. "It is."

**

* * *

OMFG! That season finale nearly killed me! I mean, we all pretty much knew that Ziva's and Gibbs's past with Ari was going to play in, but putting such a gigantic seed of doubt in all our heads that the defining moment of Ziva's NCIS History (and pretty much this entire fanfiction, quite frankly) has me absolutely enraged. If it turns out the Eli really did order her there, I'm going to LOSE MY MIND! Seriously, then **_**everything**_** is different! So, I repeat: OMFG. **

**And to top it all off, I'm pretty sure that Ziva getting captured and tortured is part of Mossad's plan to infiltrate the terror cell. So that's going to be WAY harsh. It's going to be a rough hiatus, that's for damn sure.**

**Sigh. Okay, I'm done now. I'll try to post next Tuesday if I can. Until then: REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW. And tell me about **_**your**_** thoughts on the finale, huh? I'm sitting here trying to figure out whether to go ahead with my original plans regarding my Ari-Secret/Mossad/Ziva's Father/NCIS/Tiva storyline or whether I should re-vamp it to take into account the HORROR that was the season finale. I'd welcome your opinions greatly. Please, let me know. Thanks, all! Hope you enjoyed it. Until next week!**


	23. What 'Was' and What 'Is'

**Title:** Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

**Author:** ChelseaDaggerCinderella

**Summary:** Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

**Author's Note:**

**Okay, so I got the feeling that you all **_**don't**_** want me to try to work in the finale into my plans. ;) So, I won't. I may or may not pull Rivkin and bring him in to stir up some trouble later on, but truth be told, I had another idea for a Mossad-operative-comes-and-gives-Ziva-grief storyline that fits well with the insanity that will be **_**my**_** version of "Recoil," but that comes later—maybe six chapters or so. **

**Now, fair warning: in order to accommodate some of the new twists in the story, chapters 23-25 are a little bit of a stretch in places, but seeing as even the show can get a little silly at times, I'm hoping you'll all forgive me—particularly considering **_**where**_** the silly stories lead to. **

**I want to thank you all for being **_**SO**_** great with the reviews and for being so supportive! Your take on the finale was great to hear, and I hope that we'll be able to wipe the nastiness of it from our minds for the summer with **_**this**_** version of our beloved TIVA. **

**Oh! And before I forget, we have more flashbacks in this chapter—to when Tony was team-leader. Fun for everyone! Enjoy.**

* * *

Tony and Ziva spent the remainder of the week trying to not let what they had uncovered affect them or their work, but it wasn't nearly easy. Ziva was having trouble grasping the fact that she had missed yet another manipulator in her life. She had trusted Jenny and had considered her a true friend. Finding out how she had manipulated Tony, first professionally—taking advantage of his desire/need to please and serve in the wake of Gibbs's departure (and Tony's subsequent crisis of confidence)—then personally—playing on the determination he had felt to see the case through to its finish to offset the non-committal instinct that would have had him running from Jeanne as soon as he realized he was on the verge of a serious relationship—had sent both Tony's and Ziva's heads spinning.

Tony, naturally, had reverted to his previous _kicked-dog _condition, doubting his abilities, and falling under the impression that he'd only been chosen because he was an easily manipulated patsy. And Ziva hadn't had the opportunity or ability to set him straight yet for two reasons. The first was that while Tony was not even remotely as easily manipulated or incapable as he thought he was, Ziva didn't know what Jenny had been thinking when she decided to use Tony as she had—and that meant that there was a chance that _Jenny_ was deluded enough to believe the estimation of Tony that he now held himself in. The second, however, was that Ziva was having her own tribulations right at that moment. The old and very dangerous trust issues that stemmed from Svengali like her father and brother were bubbling up within her, threatening to overwhelm her if she couldn't get her head set back on straight. And as if that weren't enough, she now had to deal with the reality of the hurt she experienced as a result of the heartache—heartache that she'd never admit to—caused by Jenny's actions and exploitations.

In short, it has been a very bad week all around, and the only two things Ziva took comfort in were that she would be cleared for active duty again within the next week, and that when she went to sleep each night and awoke each morning…Tony was right there next to her.

* * *

Ziva had to get inside Jenny's head, she'd decided. There were too many things the Director had obfuscated or outright lied about. If she had been so willing to cross Tony the way she had—and annihilate her relationship with Gibbs in doing so—then the lengths to which Jenny would go to bring in La Grenouille might very well put them all at risk.

"Good evening, Cynthia," Ziva greeted the assistant with a smile. Ziva came to stand in front of Cynthia's desk and pointed to the door that said 'Director' on it. "Is she available?"

Cynthia smiled back at her. "I'll check," she said, picking up the phone and hitting a button. "Officer David is here to see you, Director." Cynthia mumbled a few non-committal phrases and nodded at Ziva she hung up the receiver. "You can go in."

Ziva nodded her thanks and opened the door to Jenny's office. "Knock, knock," she said lightheartedly, greeting her old friend, and doing her best to put the other woman at ease. Ziva closed the door and turned back around to face Jenny with a smile.

The Director took off her glasses and came around her desk with her arms open invitingly. She went over and kissed Ziva on both cheeks. "How're you feeling?" she asked, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

"Anxious," Ziva told her. "I will be much happier when I can do more than background checks and phone calls," she said honestly.

"No sling," she noticed, pointing to Ziva's left arm and motioning for the two of them to sit at the conference table.

Ziva sat down and immediately placed her left arm up on the table, her body turned to face the Director. "Yes," she said gratefully. "The Lieutenant in charge of my treatment relieved me of it yesterday, much to my delight."

Jenny smiled at her. "I take it, then, that you're rehabbing nicely?" she prompted.

Ziva nodded. "Two weeks and three days today," she said proudly. "By this time next week I should be back on active duty."

"You always were a fast healer," Jenny commented. "If memory serves, you took a round in your calf in Berlin and were back up and running—_literally_ running—in…"

"—Six weeks," she said proudly. "Yes," she laughed. "I do not take kindly to being…"

"—Sidelined," Jenny finished knowingly. "I remember well." There was a momentary silence during which Ziva allowed a thoughtful look to cross her features, deliberately baiting Jenny—and it worked. "What's on your mind, Ziva?" she asked softly.

"I am…_worried_," she said hesitantly—threading the needle.

"Worried?" Jenny asked sincerely concerned.

"…About Tony," she revealed before launching into a quickly-paced and well-thought-out speech. "He is reacting badly to the fallout the Benoit revelation has caused between he and Gibbs. He feels, quite unrealistically, in my opinion, that Gibbs is _looking_ at him differently—whatever that means," she threw in offhandedly.

"Gibbs's issue is with _me_," Jenny said forcefully, her voice no longer the gentle and caring one of her partner, but rather the authoritative voice of the Director of NCIS. "_Not_ with Tony. Your concerns are as unfounded as his are," she told Ziva vehemently.

"He believes he failed you, Jenny—you and Gibbs each—and there seems to be nothing I can say to correct that."

"It's simply not true, Ziva," she said, standing up and pacing the floor of her office. "Yes, things did not work out in the end as I had originally envisioned them…" she stopped and stood with her hands on her hips. "But _that_ is _not_ on Tony's head," she told Ziva sternly.

"I take it you have other heads in mind…" Ziva led, hoping she'd take the bait.

Jenny shot her a stern look. Ziva cleared her throat, and inclined her head in apology. Jenny sighed and shoo k her head, seemingly baffled. "I don't know why Tony would be having such a reaction; I honestly don't." She threw out her arms. "He did _exactly_ what was both expected and needed of him. I wouldn't have given him the assignment if I didn't know he could handle it. I saw how he was while he was running the team while Jethro was out doing…whatever it is he was doing."

"Perhaps he thinks you no longer have the same confidence in him _now_ that you did _then_?" Ziva asked, putting up a hesitant front.

"It's a ridiculous notion, Ziva. He is a fully capable and extremely competent agent; he's just as good as Gibbs only with a slightly more pleasant bedside manner," she quipped, sitting down again and drumming her fingers on the table.

Ziva shook her head, trying to figure out how to get the information she needed. When trying to get information someone wouldn't usually give, it's best to fire them up first, so that if the door to a particular topic is closed on you, all you have to do is lead the other person in the direction of a completely other door—because if they're sufficiently thrown, they'll open it all by themselves. "Perhaps…when Gibbs returned…" she trailed off, hoping that Jenny would fill in the blanks for her.

"When Gibbs returned Tony was _fine_. He said he didn't have a problem working under Gibbs again, and in fact, I _know_ that's what he really wanted to do—stay here; he wouldn't have turned down…" Jenny trailed off, and sat up straighter, which told Ziva that whatever she was about to say was something she _wouldn't_ have normally said. _He wouldn't have turned down…what?_

"Director?" Ziva asked hesitantly.

Jenny shook her head, stood up, and crossed the room to return to her desk. Their conversation as old friends was over—her body language said as much. Ziva cleared her throat and quietly excused herself from the Director's office. But as she turned to leave, Jenny's voice stopped her. "Tony knows he has what it takes, Ziva—and he does."

Ziva nodded and left the office, still thinking about the Director's slip up. _He wouldn't have turned down…what? _Ziva descended the staircase slowly, using each step as another moment with which to turn the question over in her mind. _What did he turn down?_ It had been a long few days spent wrapping up the loose ends of their last case and all four of them were running on fumes. She herself had been drooling on her desk once or twice, McGee had been nodding off while typing, and Tony had succumbed to drinking coffee to stay awake—so she _knew_ they were all ready for a good night's sleep. When she reached her desk she plucked up her coat and slid her arms into it—still babying the left one a bit—and picked up her bag, swinging it on her shoulder. She turned to see Tony and McGee going through the same ritual as she was. McGee said and waved goodnight as he passed them on his way to the elevator, and Ziva waited for Tony to finish up.

He yawned loudly and she laughed at him. "Good to see that I can still amuse you even while practically _unconscious_," he told her, and she smiled at him. He hefted his bag up onto his shoulder and reached down to grab his empty coffee cup before tossing it into McGee's garbage can basketball-style. But as Ziva watched the large white coffee-stand cardboard soar through the air, it suddenly occurred to her.

"_You know I only drink coffee—"_

"—_When you are bossing people around, or are incredibly tired," she finished._

"_When Gibbs returned Tony was __fine__. He said he didn't have a problem working under Gibbs again, and in fact, I __know__ that's what he really wanted to do—stay here; he wouldn't have turned down…"_

"_You know I only drink coffee—"_

"—_When you are bossing people around…"_

…_**bossing people around…**_

"Hey," he said to her, noticing her far away look. "You ready to go?"

* * *

They were in the car headed back to Tony's apartment building. She hadn't said anything to him yet. In truth, she really didn't know how to talk to him about it. His turning down his own team meant a lot of things—some were good, some were painful, and some were…blurry. Ziva leaned her head against the window and watched the rain drops slide down the cold glass. He had been offered his own team—so Jenny obviously knew his abilities, and she knew what he was worth; that was good. He had turned down his own team—which meant that Tony might not have necessarily thought enough of himself to say yes; that was bad. He had turned down his own team and chosen to keep it a secret—that was the blurry part.

"You've been really quiet," he observed, sending her a sidelong glance. "Something wrong?"

Ziva sighed softly. "That has yet to be determined," she told him cryptically, not moving her head from its post watching raindrops fall.

"Are you feeling alright?" he asked her, sounding a little worried. "Are you sick? In pain?"

She gave a little laugh and reached out to pat his knee comfortingly, glad to be able to use her left arm again. "No, I am not sick or in pain."

"Then what's going on?" he asked her seriously, sparing her a look that urged her to let him in.

"I am honestly not sure anymore," she said, her throat a little tight. "I went up to speak with the Director before we left," she began and saw him nod that he knew that already. "I wanted to attempt to find out anything…anything that…_anything_," she said, at a loss for words to accurately describe why she had manipulated the Director of NCIS.

He nodded quickly, showing her he understood and that she should go on; but she didn't. "And what did you find out?" he asked finally. She opened her mouth—to argue—the look on her face gave away that much. He could practically hear her objection in his head—_what makes you think I found out anything, Tony_, she would have said. _Does she think I can't read her by now?_ he asked himself incredulously. "You wouldn't be acting so thrown if you hadn't found out anything, Ziva," he chastised, looking mildly amused by her reaction.

Ziva gave a short laugh at how obvious that one was. _I must be more affected than I thought_, she decided. She smiled at him and then sobered when she thought about how to best phrase her next question. "When Gibbs returned…" she began, unsure of what she might unleash by bringing this up. "She offered you your own team." It was a statement, not a question. And the way in which his hands began to nervously grip the steering wheel was his answer. "Why did you turn it down?" she asked, as politely and with as little inflection in her voice as possible.

"Does it matter?" he grit out between clenched teeth as he turned into his building's parking lot.

Ziva waited until he'd parked the car and then she unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to fully face him. She grabbed his face and turned it towards her so he could see how serious she was. "You know it does," she told him.

"I wasn't ready," he said simply, and got out of the car, taking long, quick strides through the rain to his front door.

Ziva scrambled out of the car herself and jogged a few steps to get in front of him, spinning around once she had. She put her hand out on his chest to stop him, completely ignoring the rain pouring down on them. He glared at her. "Why did you say 'no'?" she asked him again, raising her voice so she could be heard over the rain.

"You asked that already," he growled at her, attempting to step around her to open the door to the apartment building's vestibule. He yanked open the door with much more force than was necessary, taking out his aggression on the building. Ziva slammed her hand down on the door, effectively blocking Tony's escape route and keeping the two of them outside arguing in the rain like a couple of deranged lunatics.. "You asked; I answered!" he yelled at her, the rain dripping off his face as he spat the words at her.

She shook her head and started to scream at him. "You _were_ ready, Tony! You are _still_ ready. You ran the team for four months without incident." She shook her head, baffled. "It was _your_ team! _Yours_! _You_ ran it! How can you say that you were not ready when you _were_?"

Tony growled at her and shot her an aggravated look. _Why can't you just leave it __alone__, Ziva? She's such a pain in the ass! _And then he thought back to that day in the hospital when he decided that though she _was_ possibly the biggest pain in the ass in the world—she was a pain that he'd willingly subject himself to anytime. He groaned again and spread his arms out wide. "Rota!" he screamed. "Rota."

Ziva blinked and shook her head. She didn't know what that meant. "The woman on TV Land at night?" she asked baffled.

_Oh, __now__ she chooses to pay attention to pop-culture!_ he complained in his head. "Spain," he told her. "Rota, Spain, Ziva." She closed her mouth and ran her hands through her hair. The two of them were completely drenched—soaked down to the bone—but they weren't going anywhere yet. Ziva was less confused than before, but she was still waiting for him to explain himself.

He gave a very long sigh that seemed to transform into a semi-hysterical laugh. He took a sudden step forward and grabbed her face, bringing it towards him and kissing her with everything he had in him. She responded in kind, her hands finding their usual place behind his head as she stepped into his body. They kissed like that until they each had no breath left and were forced to part. Tony placed his forehead against Ziva's and just held her right where they were, in front of his apartment building, standing in the rain. Tony took a moment to look into Ziva's eyes and saw her unyielding trust and understanding. So he nodded and resigned himself to the fact that like it or not—and he did _not_—they were going to have this conversation. "As much I doubt myself at times, Ziva," he told her, still cupping her face. "I know I _can_ lead a team—I just couldn't bring myself to leave _this_ one."

* * *

Ziva threw him a towel as he stepped out of the shower and mumbled something in Hebrew under her breath. He caught the towel against his chest and wrapped it around his hips, noticing that she was already dressed for the night in a pair of his sweats and an oversized OSU sweatshirt. Her hair fell over her shoulders and around her face in attractive tendrils, still wet from her own shower. He laughed to himself and motioned to her with his hand. "Speak, Ziva. Preferably in English," he added pointedly, making his way around Ziva and into his bedroom.

"You are doing it again, Tony," she chastised, leaning against the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest.

He pulled clothes out of his dresser and slammed his drawers closed with an angry hand. "And what exactly would that be, Zee-vah?" he asked, his earlier revelations—forced at Ziva's hand (at least in his mind)—making him cranky and snarky. He was covering for his giving away so much.

To her credit, Ziva knew this; but unfortunately for Tony, that only meant that she was going to keep on after it with renewed energy and determination. Personally, she was tired of dealing with her own issues, her own demons, and her own weaknesses; helping Tony with his reservations and doubts was either a good deed on her part or her way of avoiding her own crap. Either way, Ziva was determined. "Second-guessing your decisions; feeling sorry for yourself; and not realizing that the faith everyone puts in you is neither random nor misplaced."

Tony pulled on his boxers and sweatpants, scrubbed his wet hair with the towel for a few seconds, and then threw the towel into the corner of his bedroom where it landed on top of his hamper with a wet _thwack_. "I know you think you're being helpful, Ziva; but I really don't need another pep-talk. I know the score and I know my place on the team."

"Oh really?" she asked, coming closer to him, swaggering as she did so. "And what place would that be?"

He lifted his chin defiantly, his tone clipped. "Second in command. The fall-back, the replacement—and not the comedic hero Keanu Reeves type—the fall-guy. That's me."

"I see we have come full circle," she noted dryly. "Gibbs would never have left you in charge of the team if he did not _know_ you could do it, Tony."

"Gibbs _quit_, Ziva!" he yelled. "The man couldn't be bothered to stick around to _do_ his job, what makes you think he cared about who he passed it on to?"

"Because he gave it to you!" she screamed. "He could have walked out; left, without any pretense whatsoever. No instructions, no goodbyes—nothing. But he didn't." She took a breath and came to stand in front of him so she could make sure he understood what she was saying. "He said goodbye to his friends, and then he handed them over to you for safekeeping because he _trusts_ you to be able to do that, Tony." Her words were firm, and she did not waiver in her conviction, but Tony remained silent and unmoved.

"Do you remember what happened in that first week after Gibbs left?" she asked him finally. His eyes ticked up to meet hers, a silent answer to her question.

_Abby broke first. As it turned out, Abby hadn't slept at all the night before. She had lain awake in 'bed' all night worrying about how things would be the next morning. She held out hope all night that when she got to the Navy Yard in the morning Gibbs would be there, having changed his mind, or to tell her he was just kidding. But that didn't happen._

_When Abby came in that morning she found everything changed. Tony had moved his things over to Gibbs's desk and Gibbs's displaced possessions were packed away in a box that was overflowing with the little bits of the life and career of the missing Leroy Jethro Gibbs. _

"_What did you do?" she shrieked at Tony, grabbing up the carton containing the life Gibbs had left behind. "Gibbs will kill you for touching his things, Tony!"_

"_Well I had to touch them to pack them, Abby," he argued logically, not seeing the train derailment up the track._

"_Tony, I love you," she told him. "I don't want to see you in tiny-Tony-pieces when Gibbs comes back and sees what you've done," she said seriously._

"_Abby—" Tony began gently._

"_NO!" she yelled, holding up her hand to stop him. "You may not have any faith left in Gibbs, Tony, but __I__ do!" She took a deep, ragged breath. "And he is coming __back__," she said adamantly._

_Tony just gave her a sad look._

"_Abby," Ziva began gently, still behind her desk. _

_Abby just spun and plunked down the carton onto Ziva's desk angrily. "He's coming back, Ziva! I don't care __what__ your super-spy senses tell you; he wouldn't just __quit__! Not Gibbs; not like that."_

_Ziva stood and picked up the box Abby had dropped in front of her. Ziva maintained eye contact with Abby as she handed the box back to the Goth pointedly. "He __did__ quit, Abby; __just__ like that."_

_McGee was second. It had taken two full days of Tony's "Gibbs-act" for McGee to break. He'd flipped out on Tony in the middle of the bullpen. _

"_You can't keep playing Gibbs forever, Tony! The act only works __short-term__. You're going to have to get your own schtick, DiNozzo," he'd told him, stalking off to the elevator, leaving Tony scowling in the proverbial dust._

_Ducky had flipped out next, breaking out into every story he had with undertones of desertion. He was disgusted with Gibbs's decision to quit, and he made sure that his tone and demeanor clued everyone in to that fact._

_Ziva, though; Ziva was used to people coming and going—to losing friends and family. It was the frustration she felt in the aftermath of Gibbs's departure that began to way on Ziva. First it was the confrontation with Abby. Then it was listening to McGee attempt to take Tony down a notch. Ducky's incessant droning on was like a sledgehammer in the back of her mind, reminding her at every turn that things were far from the way they __should__ be. And then the Director assigned Agent Lee to the team. Lee was afraid of Ziva—with good reason, __everybody__ who valued their lives should always be aware of the importance of __not__ angering the assassin—but Lee also let her opinions about Ziva's profession and her background cloud her professionalism; something that Ziva picked up on very easily. And a tense Ziva did not make for a well-oiled machine. The team wasn't a team anymore because they'd all been reduced to petulant, squabbling children with Tony the insecure ringleader. It made for a volatile situation. And it was left to Tony to disarm it._

_So he'd gathered everyone in together in autopsy and had them all line up firing-squad style. He kept them all silent as he paced back and forth from one end of the line to the other. "This is not a team," he said. "This is not a team until we once again work in harmony. We are each a piece of the puzzle. Separately, we can't accomplish __anything__!" He stared them all down, letting that sink in. "But together…together we solve mysteries; together, we find missing people; together, we catch the lowlifes on this earth that seek to undo all the good we stand for. It's trite, and overused, but let it never be said that it isn't true—we are stronger together than apart."_

_He stood in front of Abby. "There's no one better than you, Abs. You love your job; you love what you do, and you __hate__ injustice. You're an NCIS Forensic Specialist. And you kick ass at it," he said after a beat, earning himself a small Abby Schuito-smile._

"_Damn straight," she said softly, the determination in her voice shining through._

_Tony winked at her as he moved down the line to stand in front of McGee. "You're right, Tim; I'm can't play Gibbs forever. And I don't have to. I don't need to play at being Gibbs to remind you of your __place__, Special Agent McGee." His voice was strong and his tone was firm. "I am your team-leader," he told McGee quite seriously. "And you are my Senior Field Agent," he reminded him in the same voice, but glad to see that it had the desired effect. Tony saw the breakthrough in McGee's eyes as he finally realized what Tony was telling him. _

_McGee nodded assertively. "Yes, I am…boss." _

_Tony patted him on the shoulder as he made his way down the line to stand before Ducky. "I'm not Gibbs," he said again. "He's not here, Ducky. No one's happy about it, but it's something we all have to deal with. The team needs you back, Ducky," he told him seriously, referring to the old Ducky who did not make everything about Gibbs's desertion. Ducky nodded and smiled proudly at Tony. _

_Then he came to stand in front of Ziva and Lee. "PROBIE!" he shouted, laughing as he saw McGee jump before remembering his place. _

_Lee stepped forth and stood at attention. "Yes, sir?" she asked, trepidation in her voice. _

"_Agent Lee, there is only one thing you need to know about Officer David," he told her seriously, leaning down for dramatic effect. "Don't make her angry," he deadpanned._

_Lee looked nervously to Ziva before stammering an awkward, "Understood, Sir," and returned to her place in line._

"_Officer David," he said gently, not needing to infuriate Ziva unnecessarily. Ziva looked up to meet his eyes, amusement evident in her own orbs. "Best not to kill the new recruits before they can prove themselves," he told her. She nodded._

_And that was that. He'd smoothed out the bumps and begun the healing process… _

"You knew what needed to be said to each of us," she reminded him. "You kept us from falling to awkward pieces in the face of abnormality. You _led_ the team, Tony," she told him unwaveringly. "Gibbs knows what you had to work through to get the team to trust your leadership like we trusted his. He knew you were ready when he left; and he saw that he was right when he returned. He trusts you, Tony. _I_ trust you," she said fiercely, holding her hand to her chest to show him the many ways in which she trusted him. "McGee, despite your best efforts to alienate him," she said, throwing him a meaningful look with her eyes, "_trusts_ you." She through out her arms in a frustrated huff, "You _know_ Abby and Ducky trust you, Tony. We all do," she said loudly. "Even Jenny," she told him softly but firmly.

Tony guffawed and broke eye contact, turning around to wrench open another drawer to then angrily slam shut. He pulled a t-shirt over his head and thrust his arms threw it, now aggravated.

When he was done, Ziva grabbed his arm and made him look at her. "What she did was reprehensible, Tony. What she did was infuriating as your Director, and heartbreaking as your friend." He made a move to turn away from her and walk out, but she blocked his path, speaking faster now. "She set you up, Tony; she did. You and I know that now, but—" He tried to get by her again, but again, she blocked his path, willing to take his angry looks in order to say what she needed to say. "—_But_, I do not think she set you up because you were an easy target, Tony—I think she did it because she knew when the time came, you would be able to handle it…to survive it."

He stopped trying to leave and just looked at her. His body was tense and his breathing was quick—he was reacting to her assertion and she just watched him for a moment. She put her hands on his shoulders before moving them slowly up towards his neck, and then his face. "It was a horrible thing to do to anyone, Tony. I do not condone it. I know how it feels to be manipulated like that." He looked at her finally…_really_ looked at her, making real contact with her eyes, and he softened a little. _Probably her father_, he thought to himself, rage surging up in him at the idea of Ziva feeling as violated as he felt when he thought about the way in which Jenny had set him up.

"And?" he asked gently, prompting her to finish her thought.

"We are stronger than them," she told him adamantly, holding his face between her hands and locking her eyes to his. "Because we _survive_ it."

He was processing all of this new information. _Nothing like being the chum who didn't know he was being used. How did I not see something so blatant? Of course it all makes sense now—why would anyone want to make themselves so vulnerable? Of course there should have been a deeper cover—a better cover. And I didn't know enough to know the difference! What kind of agent does that make me?_ He didn't say anything for a few moments and Ziva let the silence hang between them, knowing that he'd speak again when he was ready. "I should've known better," he said to her. "You were right—there should have been a deeper cover."

"Tony—" she began.

He wrenched away from her and began to pace his floor. "Which Gibbs knows because _he_ knew better than I did. So on top of being the Director's puppet Gibbs thinks that I'm an idiot for allowing such a stupid, idiotic, _PROBIE_ mistake!" he screamed, yelling at himself more so than Ziva.

"_Tony!_" she screamed, stopping him in his tracks. "You were not trained for deep-cover assignments—"

He spun on her, misunderstanding her point. "Thank you, Ziva; that helped _so_ much!"

She slapped him to get him to pay attention. "Would you stop feeling sorry yourself for one minute?!" she screamed. "I know you would very much like to get back to flicking out, but right now you are going to stop and _listen_ to what I have to say!"

He gnashed his teeth together silently, a sour look on his face. "It's _flipping out_," he ground out petulantly.

She took a deep breath to keep herself from beating the crap out of him. She relaxed her hands at her sides, melting away the tight fists she had been previously trying to control. "You were not trained for deep-cover assignments," she began again, speaking slowly. He huffed and made a move to turn away from her, but he wasn't fast enough. Her hands shot out and held him in place, her eyes nailing him in place. "—And that is a _good_ thing, Tony!" She breathed out hard. "I have been masquerading as other people for over a decade, Tony, and there is no good that could have come from your having the same training that allows me to change personas as though I were skipping tracks on a CD." He looked at her curiously. "Yes, you are in pain; you suffered in many ways from your—exposure." She shook her head at him, here throat tightening and emotions coming to the surface. "But the alternative would have been to harden you to—life."

Tony noticed the change in her immediately, and his hardened exterior softened, now concerned with Ziva. She never showed so much emotion if she could avoid it, so obviously, the tears that were gathering in her eyes meant that if nothing else, he owed it to her to listen to what she was telling him—what she was revealing to him.

"Gibbs. Jenny. Me. We all…experience life differently. We live our lives, yes, but we analyze every second of it, looking for the lie someone is telling us and watching out for the other person doing the same." She took a ragged breath and cursed herself for not being able to explain this to him while maintaining her composure. And then she realized that was the key to getting him to understand her. "Gibbs will not apologize because it is a sign of weakness. He never shares anything personal if he can avoid it, because that gives someone a hold over him—gives them power over him. And he lives like that—closed off and alone.

"Jenny used you to get what she wanted." She watched him flinch slightly. "And she was able to do that _because_ of the way she looks at life, looks at her goals, and the way she experiences other people's reactions. And I…" she hesitated. "I should be able to tell you all of this without my head telling me that doing so will make you see me as weaker than I was ten minutes ago."

Tony nodded quickly and stayed silent. He saw her clench her teeth together and scrunch up her face as if she were holding in tears that she refused to shed. _Probably true_, he thought, wishing she didn't feel that way. _And that's what she's trying to __tell__ you, DiNozzo_, his inner voice shouted to him. _You don't want her to feel as though she has to hide her emotions from you, and the reason she __does__ that is because of the training that you believe would have saved you the embarrassment and frustration you feel right now—because of Jenny and Jeanne and Gibbs._

She kept her eyes closed and her hands closed tightly over his arms, squeezing out her frustration on his biceps. She took in a heaving breath. "I should be able to say so many things to you…but I cannot." _Like telling you that I love you as well_, she thought sadly. He'd said it first, but she had yet to say it. It wasn't something he said a lot; in fact, she was pretty sure he'd never said it a second time after that day in the hospital, but that was fine with her because it would have just reminded her of her inabilities and downfalls.

"Not yet," he whispered to her. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, his eyes softened and understanding once again. Tony had an inkling as to what she was referring to. He hadn't said it again because he wasn't sure that it was the best of ideas—gushy emotions and Ziva don't mix—and he didn't want to spook the clam shell into shutting just yet. But just because he knew of her difficulty with emotion didn't mean that he thought any less of her. She was his best friend, his partner, his girlfriend, and someone for whom he had tremendous respect. He shook his head. "I don't think you're weak, Ziva," he told her. "Far from it." She swallowed hard and stayed silent. "I hate that you feel weak when you open up to me," he told her seriously.

"I hate that the people close to you caused you so much pain and grief." She opened her mouth to say something but he silenced her with a finger to her lips. He brought his head closer, his voice very serious. "And I understand what you're trying to tell me," he admitted finally. "And telling me _what_ you did, the _way_ you did," he said pointedly, referring to her highly-charged emotional state, "…is _not_ weakness." She bowed her head down a little, no longer meeting his eyes. She just couldn't look at him right at that moment—she was too likely to let her tears fall. But his voice was very firm and his eyes were very kind…and loving. "You fought your instinct because you wanted to help me understand what I stubbornly couldn't." He tipped her head up to meet his once again, and his heart nearly broke at how scared her eyes looked. "That's _not_ weakness, Ziva—_that's_ strength."

"I still turned down the job offer," he said begrudgingly later on that night as they lay in bed.

Ziva expected it to come up again. "It is not a weakness to have chosen that way," she told him assuredly. "I believe that it was the more courageous choice."

"I don't see how you can say that when you were ordered to leave everything you knew to come and live here in DC—and you did it." He sighed heavily, comparing himself to Ziva and seeing that perhaps his dedication wasn't quite what he thought it was. "I couldn't even leave when tempted with career advancement," he mumbled.

Ziva turned to face him, lying on her side with her head propped up on her hand. "That is not what happened," she said softly. He looked down at her curiously and she sighed. "I requested the assignment, Tony. I _ran_ from Israel, ran from my problems," she said thoughtfully. "But you," she said, looking at him sincerely. "You knew what you wanted and you knew what felt right to you. You didn't let anyone else's opinions about what they believed you should do come in between you and what _you_ knew to be right." Ziva paused, a smile playing on her lips as she realized how much like their mentor they had become. "You followed your gut," she told him, humor in her voice. "Gibbs would be proud."

"That's basically what Jenny said."

"Then she was right about at least one thing," Ziva said softly before placing a feather light kiss to his lips and lying her head back down on her pillow.

**

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**Let me know what you think so I'm not left wondering whether I've ruined my streak, huh? Lol. **


	24. Five Months Later

**Title:** Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

**Author:** ChelseaDaggerCinderella

**Summary:** Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

**Author's Note:**

_**A MONTH!!!**_** I know, I know. I am SO SO SO SO SO sorry. Things were piling on top of other things and I just couldn't come up with anything to write. I hadn't forgotten—I promise. Every day I was checking in, trying to come up with something to put down to advance the storyline, but I was perpetually **_**stuck**_** in the mud and I couldn't free myself. I'm SO sorry. Anyway, when I got the message from MIA58 today I knew that I couldn't wait any longer to do **_**something**_**. So I sat down at work and refused to stop until I made some progress.**

**Well…**_**whew!**_** I made progress. I got two chapters finished and proofed, though I'm sure they'll be at least **_**one**_** error that will drive me crazy later on…**

**Anyway, I'm posting this chapter now and the next one tomorrow to make up for my crumminess. I'm so sorry, yet again.**

**Enjoy!**

**

* * *

Five Months Later…**

**JULY 18**

Ziva had three minutes to get out of the building, make the drop, and get back into the building without being seen. She twisted her wrist around as subtly as possible and checked the time with a quick glance of her eyes. She had two minutes until the eyes watching her were scheduled to take a bathroom break and she only hoped that the one hundred eighty second window she had would be enough to get away clean. She didn't want to spare any stray thoughts to what could happen if she got caught—there were too many people counting on her.

She counted the seconds as they ticked away and thought about her options. The elevator would take far too long so she would have to take the stairs. She was five floors up, which meant she was going to be cutting it close, but short of flying she had no other alternative.

The door was another problem. Sparing the time to lock the door behind her and allotting the time to let herself back in after the drop was done was simply _not_ an option. She didn't have time to fight with the lock and she couldn't afford to let the ears that went with the eyes hear her either leaving or coming back in. No, she'd have to leave it open, she decided silently.

Ziva took a deep breath in preparation and tried to not let on to the person sitting next to her that anything was amiss. This was her job—this was what she was good at; she was trained for this and she would not fail.

And then he was standing with a groan and trotting to the bathroom like it was a death march. She readied herself. _This is it_, she thought. Once he had turned the corner she jumped up silently and opened the door as slowly and stealthily as possible. She picked up his shoe from the floor and shoved it in between the door and the frame, taking the risk that he wouldn't emerge until she was safely back in the building as if nothing had changed. She heard various sounds coming from the shuffling feet down the hall so she crept back over to the coffee table and plucked up the item, securing it safely on her belt and glided back over to the door, waiting for the sound that would send her speeding off to make the drop.

Ziva counted silently in her head, _3, 2, 1…SLAM!_

She shot out of the apartment like a bullet and took off for the stairwell down the hall. She heard the faint and distant thud of the door hitting the shoe as it closed, grateful that it had sufficiently muffled the sound to avoid suspicion from the person still hopefully oblivious to the goings on of this particular operation. She breathed deeply and took the stairs two or three at a time, practically jumping down each half flight, counting down all the while. She had just under two minutes, she realized, as she burst through the front door of the building.

"You got it?" the person before her asked, impatient, but excited at the same time.

Ziva nodded and thrust it into the woman's hands before turning tail and charging back up the stairs faster than she thought she could have. She had just reached the top of the third flight when the cell phone on her belt rang and she realized that she'd handed over the wrong cell phone. She snatched it up and checked the screen, seeing that the woman, too, had realized her mistake. "It's the wrong one, Ziva!" Abby screamed into the phone the moment Ziva had flipped it open.

"I know, Abby, but I only have a minute to get back in there," Ziva reasoned, as she continued to climb the stairs.

"What do I do?"

"Come upstairs and wait outside the apartment door, we will do the switch off right behind his back."

"How're we going to do that?"

Ziva smiled as she flung herself into the hallway of the fifth floor, heading straight for apartment with all due haste. "Trust me." She pushed open the door and kicked the shoe out of the way just as the toilet flushed and the sounds of the sink could be heard as Tony washed his hands.

Ziva took calming breaths to stabilize her breathing and heart rate and then smiled as she heard the elevator ding outside. She took a chance and peeked out the door. Sure enough, Abby in all her Goth glory was stomping down the hallway as quietly as she could in her large and clunky platform shoes. Ziva waved her on to hurry her up, each holding out the cell phones as they came closer. Abby was a foot away when she heard the door open and Tony step out. "Ziva?" he called to her, his voice coming closer.

"Yes?" she asked as she and Abby switched the phones by their fingertips. Ziva closed the door as quickly as she could without having it make a sound. Then she locked it and turned around, quickly hiding her guilty and flummoxed expression as Tony rounded the corner, a lecherous look on his face.

"You coming to bed?" he asked her with a grin.

Ziva had to bite her tongue not to burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. She smiled, her tongue still between her teeth, and nodded yes, throwing him a wink to really sell it. She took a deep breath, and pushed off from the door, throwing him her best _come-hither_ stare when all she could think of was whether Abby's and her slightly foolish plan would work and whether this party and the lengths they'd gone to keep it a full-out surprise were really worth losing her tongue for. "Anything for the birthday boy," she crooned as she danced toward him.

"I like the sound of that," he drawled as he grabbed her by the waist and scooped her up into his arms, whisking her into the bedroom, and kicking the door closed behind them.

* * *

"_Ziva!_" Tony screamed the next morning in obvious distress.

Ziva ran into the living room half-dressed and fell into a defensive stance, her Sig in her hand, raised and ready. "What is it?" she asked in a worried voice that quickly faded to astonishment as she took in the sight before her.

Tony had ripped the living room apart. The back copies of GSM that he kept on the table in the corner, usually neatly stacked and arranged by issue, were now scattered on the floor along with every book he had on his lone book shelf, and several DVDs that he'd stuck in alongside them because he had run out of room in his movie cabinet.

"Have you seen my cell phone?" he asked, not turning to look at her, which was good, Ziva noted, because she wasn't sure she could overcome the grin that threatened to overtake her features at the sight of a boxer-clad Tony wrenching the cushions from his couch and armchairs as though he were six and scavenging for loose change with which to buy ice cream. "I can't find my cell phone—_anywhere_!"

Ziva let the Sig fall to her side distastefully, trying to play her character well, noting, rather sardonically, that she'd never really had to play _herself_ before. She cleared her throat, placed the gun at rest on the table and began to put right what Tony had thrown askew. "Have you checked your backpack yet?" she asked him.

"Of course I did!" he huffed.

Ziva mimicked his snippy response disdainfully behind his back, but stopped immediately when he turned suddenly. "Your pants?" she asked helpfully, hoping he hadn't caught her little routine.

"First place I looked," he said decisively as he went towards the back of the apartment.

Ziva could hear him tearing apart the kitchen, though even if she hadn't been the thief who'd stolen it the night before, she wouldn't have had a blessed clue why the cell phone would be in there—Tony never cooked, and they usually ate on the couch or floor in the living room. She sighed dramatically and began fixing up the cushions that Tony had so gruffly manhandled.

He returned to the living room moments later, his hands propped stubbornly on his hips, still the picture of high amusement for Ziva. She cleared her throat again. "Did you try calling it, Tony?"

His hands dropped from his hips as he went to say something to her, a belligerent expression on his face—and then he stopped, and began to squirm and shift his weight. He pointed his finger at her, looking for all intents and purposes like he was about to scold her, but Ziva knew better. Now _she_ was the one to put her hands on her hips as she quirked her eyebrow and threw him a look that said: _think carefully before you start that sentence!_ He dropped his hand quickly and turned tail for the bedroom like a sullen child. "I was just about to do that!" he called back to her petulantly, and oh-so-very DiNozzo.

Ziva picked up her gun and chuckled as she trailed after him, mumbling to herself. "Of course you were, my little hairy butt…"

* * *

"Gibbs is gonna kill me," Tony said for what had to have been the billionth time that morning. "Kill me dead he is that LJ Gibbs," he groaned miserably as he and Ziva stepped off the elevator and into the squad room later that morning. He had been going on and on about it since he gave up his desperate search for the tiny cellular device. In truth, he most likely would have stayed in the apartment all day searching for it in every nook and cranny had Ziva not literally pulled him out of the apartment this morning.

"I'm a dead man, McGee," Tony remarked sadly as he threw his gear down behind his desk and plopped into his chair, the picture of the defeated man—if that man weren't as dramatic as Tony.

"Were you expecting me to get emotional, Tony?" the younger agent asked without looking up from his computer screen.

Tony straightened, a little surprised. "Way to spread the love, McGoo," he said, a little wounded. "I tell you I'm practically a dead man walking and _that's_ all you have to say?" he asked playing hurt.

Ziva put her head into her hands and rubbed her temple. McGee sighed and drew his attention away from his screen long enough to humor Tony. "You're right," he said, seemingly sympathetic. Tony looked a bit proud. "What I should have said was: what did you do now, DiNozzo?" McGee smiled and laughed at the stricken look that appeared on Tony's face and turned to Ziva, taking in her appearance curiously.

"Thank you both for the heartfelt support," Tony said petulantly.

"Oh, for crying out loud, _Tony_," Ziva said, getting more and more fed up with his behavior every moment, which made her seriously reconsider her part in this increasingly preposterous charade. "Just be a man and requisition a new cell phone!"

"Then Gibbs will find out!" he hissed across their desks.

"Gibbs is going to find out anyway, Tony," McGee reminded him smartly.

Ziva nodded. "Probably the first time he goes to call you and you don't pick up," she pointed out.

"Or worse," McGee said, really getting his digs in, "When someone else picks up…"

"Oh, God," Tony moaned, letting his head hit his desk with an audible _thump_.

Ziva smirked. "Of course, it is not as if the man has not wrecked enough cell phones in his own comings and goings to warrant a little mercy when one goes missing…" she surmised, leading Tony _this way_ and _that_.

"_Missing!"_ Tony said, popping out of his chair in a Eureka moment. "It's missing, Probie!"

McGee nodded slowly. "Yes, it is, Tony."

"We find _missing_ things—people, mostly—but still; you can do your little computer trace dance routine and tell me where it is!" he said, the hopefulness in his voice as large as the smile on his face.

McGee cleared his throat. "Don't we think that would be a misuse of—"

"It's NCIS property, McGiggle," Tony yelled sternly. "And we're on a mission to recover it, Probie." Tony clapped his hands together. "Chop, chop; get crackin'!"

McGee sighed, turned to his screen, and began to type. "I'm going to regret this; I know it."

Tony squatted down to McGee's level, his eyes never leaving the screen. "More type-y, less talk-y, McGee," Tony ordered from his position monitoring the results.

"Gibbs isn't gonna like this, Tony," McGee said.

"Isn't gonna like what, McGee?" Gibbs asked, suddenly appearing over their heads, shocking Tony into falling backwards onto his butt.

Ziva covered her mouth wit her hand and turned the other way so no one would see that she was unable to keep herself from laughing. Tony looked over, momentarily stunned by Gibbs's sudden appearance, and shot a dirty look to her back. Gibbs's eyes skimmed the scene with hidden amusement. McGee turned the screen so Tony could see the NO RESULTS banner flashing on the screen. Tony blanched for a moment, missing the wink McGee sent Ziva's way and the conspiratorial looks all three secretly and subtly shared.

"DiNozzo?" the older agent questioned calmly, waiting for an answer.

"Um," Tony started, as he stood up from the floor and brushed himself off.

"What aren't I going to like?" he asked, a little more clipped this time.

"That—it's a light case load today, boss," Tony said, stumbling over his words for an explanation. "Nothing going on around here, no siree." He shook his head, chuckled nervously, and slowly backed out towards the elevator. "No cases. We all know how you hate that, boss…"

"I hate it when there aren't any armed forces personnel committing or becoming the victims of crimes, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, a little dangerously.

Tony gulped and sputtered, gesturing awkwardly, much to McGee's delight and Ziva's partial amusement. "Well, no, boss, of course you don't—what I meant was—cuz what I _meant_ to say was that—and if—then, of course—but, now—no, and—I'm just going to go see if Abby needs any help…while there are no crimes being perpetrated," he finished lamely, and a little squeakily. "Bye," he said, and turned tail for Abby's lab.

Gibbs turned to Ziva, a curiously amused expression on his face. "What's with him?"

Ziva shrugged innocently. "He believes that he has lost his cell phone," she said calmly.

Gibbs's expression darkened slightly. "He lost his cell?"

"No, boss," McGee chuckled. "He _thinks_ he lost his cell phone."

"And the difference is?"

"Abby and I stole it from him yesterday," Ziva said finally. Gibbs just looked at her questioningly. "So we can lure him with it to the bar tonight," she explained. Gibbs still looked at her blankly. "For the party," she clarified. Still nothing. "Tony's party," she clarified further. "For his birthday…tonight." She huffed. "Gibbs, you are coming? I told you about this weeks ago!"

The older agent broke out into a smile. "You're not the only one who can lead people on, Ziva," he said with a shrug, on his way back to his desk.

"Oh, I see," Ziva said, nodding knowingly. "Giving me a bite of my own medicine…"

Gibbs smiled to himself as he positioned himself in front of his computer. McGee smiled in Gibbs direction briefly, the latter's eyes cutting over to the younger agent's for just a moment before returning to his business organizing pads and messages that didn't need organizing.

"Ziva?" McGee said, his head tucked down towards his chest to hide his smirk.

"Hm?" she asked, oblivious once more.

"Taste."

"What?" she asked, that look of confusion coming over her features in one of Ziva's only _typical_ expressions.

"_Taste_ of your own medicine, Ziva," Gibbs clarified, now up from his desk and passing by her own, stopping to lean over and whisper, "And yes, I will be there…" Then he rounded the corner and was gone.

* * *

"Will you just requisition a new one, Tony!" she screamed at him for the eighth time since that morning. She knew he wasn't going to; he was determined to keep looking for his cell phone—all over his apartment, his car, the office. He planned on searching her place later on that night even though he knew that it most definitely wasn't there—but he was holding out for a miracle as far as far as Ziva could tell.

"I've managed to not have any other problems with the man today, Ziva. If I can find it before Gibbs finds out then I'm home free."

"And if he finds out that you lost it and did not get a new one then you will be in even deeper than you think you are right now," she pointed out.

Tony's head sagged in realization. "That's a good point," he moaned into his arms as Ziva's phone rang.

_Right on time_, she thought as she plucked up the receiver. "Officer David," she answered.

"We're all set, here, Ziva," Abby said conspiratorially.

"I'll be right down," Ziva said. As she hung up the phone she spared a look at Tony sitting so miserable at his desk. _It will all be better soon_, she thought to herself, in an attempt to quiet the tiny jab in her gut that seemed to announce a small amount of guilt. "I have to go see Abby now." He sighed dramatically and she rolled her eyes at the top of his head before giving into her need to comfort him, even though she knew that in a few minutes there would be nothing left to comfort. She walked over to his desk and, careful that no one else was around, (after all, they were all waiting for them at the party) she ran her fingers through is hair lovingly. "I am confident that the situation will right itself, Tony."

"How?" he asked dismally, lifting his head a bit.

She shook her head and shrugged, and then dropped a quick kiss on his lips. "Because," she said simply, and disappeared.

"Because…" he grumbled sullenly. It was his birthday. He shouldn't have had to deal with a mess like this on his birthday, and yet fate seemed to think it a necessary hurdle to clear. Tony sighed again. He'd gotten several well-wishes throughout the day, and his usual present from Abby and birthday speech from Ducky. Gibbs didn't acknowledge birthdays…at least not Tony's. _But that's fine_, Tony thought confidently, _it's how he shows he cares_, he reasoned, as he reached for his ringing phone.

"DiNozzo," he said sadly. "The miserable birthday boy du jour…"

"Hi," said a hesitant voice on the other end of the line. "Um, I don't know if you're missing a cell phone…" it began slowly.

Tony jumped up from his chair. "You have it?"

"I suppose so, yes."

"Oh, praise the birthday Gods!" he said triumphantly. "Where can I pick it up?" he asked quickly, grabbing pencil and paper to jot down the address, wondering to himself how he managed to leave it at the bar of all places. _Huh. I must have left it there after dinner_, Tony thought to himself before thanking the caller and hanging up.

Tony scribbled a quick note and left it on Ziva's desk as he headed to the elevator.

* * *

The bar in question was only a few blocks off the Navy Yard. It was a place the entire team frequented often, like last night when he, Ziva, McGee, and Abby had grabbed burgers and beers after work. Tony parked his car around the corner and jogged to the door of the bar, grateful that his ongoing panic attack would soon be at an end. _I get the phone back before Gibbs can find out, and all is well in Who-ville tonight_.

But when he wrenched open the door he got the shock of his life—Gibbs, standing right in front of him.

Tony startled. _How does he __do__ that?!?!_ "Uh, boss—" he stammered, flummoxed. "I was just—coming to—and then I was—and going to—well the—and it—so I—uh—well, what I mean is—"

"_SURPRISE!!!_"

Tony startled again, completely taken aback at the sea of people who suddenly popped out from every nook and cranny of the place. Everyone was there. _Everyone_. Agents from work, old friends from Baltimore, a few frat brothers, the guys he played football with, and of course, the team. Ducky, Jimmy, McGee, Abby—even Gibbs—and of course, Ziva.

Tony was almost speechless. "How did you? How did I not—? Who? How? _**WHO?**_" he barked, finally, his aggravation over his missing cell phone and the ensuing irritation ringing through loud and clear in his tone, which was only enhanced by the way his face just kind of blew up in one giant ball of frustration.

Everyone in the room laughed at his expression and then the jibes started from around the room.

"Very eloquent!"

"Well said!"

"A man of few words!"

"—Too bad they're all the wrong ones!"

Gibbs came up to Tony, a smile on his highly amused face as he clapped him on the back proudly. "You're very lucky, DiNozzo," he said to him with a small chuckle.

"I know, boss," he said, overwhelmed at the scene and then finally relenting to the actuality of the situation and how proud he should be to have such an incredible group of people care to celebrate his birthday. "I can't believe this—this is…it's great. Thank you, all…" he yelled to the group before him obnoxiously, "…for coming to worship the great DiNozzo on his blessed day of birth!" There was a combination of laughs and groans as the crowd lifted their glasses to toast him.

Gibbs shook his head and slapped something onto Tony's chest with enough force to knock the breath out of the birthday boy. "I meant about the phone, DiNozzo," he deadpanned. Tony brought his hands up to the source of the trauma to his chest, the phone falling into his hands as Gibbs released it.

Tony faced Gibbs with a guilty expression on his face. "Sorry, boss. I know I should've gotten a replacement…"

Gibbs quirked his head to the side.

Tony sighed. "I had it when I got home last night, figured it was somewhere in my apartment…and that it would turn up eventually," he said, trying to laugh it off. Gibbs just looked at him, and though Tony understood implicitly, the younger man could have sworn he saw something flash on Gibbs's face for the briefest of moments. But it was gone just as fast as (Tony had thought) it appeared. He straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and nodded gruffly. "But in our line of work we don't have time for 'eventually,' boss. I'll be more responsible from now on."

"Don't do it again," Gibbs said seriously, and then disappeared into the crowd in a quintessential Gibbs style.

Tony let out a breath and rubbed the back of his neck, a weird feeling in his gut. "Got it, boss," he whispered to Gibbs's retreating back, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something had just happened…

**

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**So, I'm starting to let the cat out of the bag… What do you think? Excited? Nervous? Let me know!**


	25. We're Havin' A Party!

**Title:** Picking up the Pieces and Filling in the Gaps

**Author:** ChelseaDaggerCinderella

**Summary:** Tony and Ziva spend the four months between 'Hiatus' and 'Shalom' strengthening their partnership…and their relationship, but Tony still winds up working undercover for the Director, and Ziva has demons of her own to deal with. Can they come together to make everything alright again?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NCIS, although I'd like to. No infringement intended, Mr. Bellisario.

**Author's Note:**

**Party II of Tony's Birthday Celebration…**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. As promised, I'm doing a back-to-back update to make amends for my month-long absence...so sorry. Now, I have no immediate chapters stored, so give me a week to try to get something together, okay? In the mean time, nothing spurs me on like an avalanche of reviews.  
**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy this part. I think they'll be one more part to Tony's part, but like I said, I haven't written it yet. Hehe. **

**So, if anyone was confused, this chapter should start to clear it up, and if not, then, WishYouWereHere13, you should check out MIA58's review to the last chapter...it sums it up nicely. **

**Thanks again, everyone!**

**Mwuah!  
**

* * *

"Happy Birthday, dear boy!" Ducky said as he came to clap him on the back, very Grandfatherly.

"Thanks, Ducky," Tony said with a great big smile.

"I daresay, by the expression on your face, that the surprise was successful then?" the Englishman assumed.

"Well, I, being the great detective that I am," he said, his head inflating exponentially.

"—Had absolutely no clue," Ziva said pointedly, finishing his sentence before his ego left no more room for the party.

Tony guffawed and shook his head cockily. "Well, I _did_—"

McGee rolled his eyes at Tony. "—worry about Gibbs killing you for losing your cell phone all day—"

"—preventing you from noticing, speculating, theorizing, or even gleaning a microscopic _hint_ that it was all just a ruse to lure you here…" Abby finished, in the capstone to a chorus that seemed peculiarly rehearsed.

"And to keep you from discovering the big secret, of course," Jimmy pointed out proudly.

Tony thought for a moment, and then straightened his shoulders stubbornly. "I've been _**had**_," he realized in shock. "Played, tricked, flummoxed, swindled, scammed, hoodwinked, deceived; taken for a ride; made the butt of a caper, I have! Alright, who done it?" he asked, in mock detective mode.

"Well it was a _team_ effort," Jimmy supplied helpfully.

Ducky shook his head at the boy in playful astonishment and came around behind Abby and Ziva. "Yes, Mr. Palmer, it was. Though I daresay that _some_," Ducky began, hinting not-so-subtly with his eyes to Abby and Ziva, "…did more than others."

They all chuckled happily, enjoying the lighthearted fun.

"Well, aren't I a lucky guy," Tony said, toasting Abby and Ziva in thanks.

Abby gave him a hug and a kiss and then sped off towards the stereo on a mission. "Can we get some music in here?!?!"

"Abby, that system is very sensitive!" McGee said as he rushed off after her.

"Hey! I programmed the music _very_ carefully, Abby!" Jimmy protested as he, too, took off.

"Oh, dear," Ducky chuckled and sighed. "Well, I think I'll go and find wherever Jethro ran off to." He placed a hand on Ziva's shoulder in a fatherly gesture of affection as he went. "An excellent job, my dear."

Tony caught Ziva's eye as Ducky left, their gaze a conversation only they were privy to. He took a step towards her, a cocky smile plastered on his face.

Ziva shot him a reproachful look at their proximity and took a step back. She made a sweeping gesture with her arm in order to cover the awkwardness of her parry and winked at him. "Your public awaits," she said grandly, smirking.

"My public, huh?" He grinned at her. "Gotta say, right now, I'm a little more interested in the _private_," he intimated.

She shook her head and slapped him on the back. "That comes later," she whispered cheekily. Then she pushed him into his crowd of adoring worshippers with gusto.

* * *

"Tony seems to be enjoying himself," Ducky noted keenly as he came up from behind Gibbs at the bar and signaled the barman for a drink of his own. "Scotch. Neat."

"Mmhm," Gibbs mumbled idly. He brought his beer bottle to his lips distractedly.

Ducky shifted from foot to foot, sensing something amiss. "Abby and Ziva certainly seem to have outdone themselves," he added as he nodded his thanks to the barman and palmed his drink thoughtfully.

Gibbs took another swig and then slowly turned his gaze towards Ducky, scanning the room with his astute stare all the while. The two men were in the rear of the establishment taking up space at the short end of the bar that ran parallel to the front wall, which, of course, afforded them a relatively clear view of the entire place. Ducky sighed. "I know that look, Gibbs."

Gibbs cocked his head and shrugged. "And what look would that be, Duck?"

Ducky leaned in close, his voice hurried and a tad harsh. "You're up to something, Jethro," he said plainly, a pointed finger directed straight at Gibbs. "The way you're looking around this place," he added distastefully. "It's as if you're—on a stakeout." Gibbs said nothing, leaving Ducky with the distinct impression that he was not too far off the mark. "Good lord, Jethro, it's a party! One would think you'd never relaxed before."

Gibbs took another sip of his beer. "Just keeping a watchful eye, Duck…"

* * *

Ziva and Abby watched from their vantage point at the bar as a very happy Tony caroused with his friends.

"You'd think he'd never had a birthday party before," Abby commented, amusement evident in her voice.

"Every day is a new adventure," Ziva said with a laugh, watching as across the room Tony held court with a number of old buddies—some from the force, and one or two members of his college fraternity. He was waving his arms wildly, smiling broadly, and soaking up the spotlight. "He does love telling a good story," she admitted, a crooked smile on her face as the group laughed heartily at Tony's words.

"Wow," Abby said, impressed, as Tony put his arm around McGee in a genuinely brotherly way. "I guess he's _really_ into this party," Abby said. "He's being genuine with McGee…"

"He is not _always_ an ass, Abby," Ziva scolded lightly. "You of all people should know that," she said with a wink. "Are you not usually Tony's personal cheerleader to those who think he is a…" Ziva trailed off, not sure of how to put it exactly.

"Bastard?" Abby asked with a laugh.

Ziva quirked her head to the side. "I suppose that works." The two women shared a look and then burst into laughter.

"Good times!" Abby toasted, lifting her drink in the air. Ziva smiled and did the same, the glass clinking together gently. "Though some would say, and by _some_, of course," Abby said conspiratorially, "I mean _me_—because who else really knows, right?—that these days _you're_ pretty much that man's _personal_ cheer-leader, if you know what I mean…"

"Abby!" Ziva scolded, only marginally scandalized.

"Oh, come on, Ziva!" Abby argued, turning to face her friend with a very determined expression. "I'm the only person in the world who knows about this relationship," she said, throwing her arms up in the air, winning her a warning look from Ziva, whose eyes were all about sending the message: _way to __not__ draw attention, Abby_! Abby tamed her gesticulations and turned to whisper conspiratorially with Ziva, "All I'm saying is that I would have thought you'd want to actually _talk_ about it more with me considering the circumstances." Ziva took a long pull from her beer and squirmed, a little uncomfortable with the touchy-feely girl-talk thing. Abby pounced on what she perceived as a weakening in Ziva's reluctance. "Especially considering that I'm someone you can wholly and confidently confide in…"

"I do not doubt your loyalty, Abby," Ziva said quickly, wanting Abby to understand that it was not a matter of non-confidence that kept her mum on the subject. "It is just…not something I am accustomed to partaking in."

"What?" Abby asked, almost obtusely. "Girl-talk?"

Ziva shot her a playfully exasperated look. "Yes…girl-talk" she said, sounding strained as she blew out a long breath. She felt painfully awkward as she admitted it, and even more so as Abby scooped her up in a giant Abby-like hug that jostled her so much that beer sputtered out of the bottle, sloshing over her hand and down her arm.

"Oh, Ziva!" Abby said, in that _it'll all be fine now that I'm here_ voice of hers. "We'll get you spilling those relationship beans in no time," she said, grabbing napkins from the bar and wiping off Ziva's arm. "That's a Sciuto-promise, Ziva David!"

Ziva couldn't help it; yes, she felt a little foolish, but Abby was so excited and so determined to be the type of friend Ziva could never remember having, that Ziva felt herself melting on the spot. She smiled brightly at the happy Goth and the two women laughed lightheartedly.

Abby reclaimed both of their beers from the bar, handed Ziva hers, and toasted her friend happily. "Cheers!" she said.

Ziva raised her own bottle with mirth. "Salud," she said, taking a sip of her beer.

Abby swallowed hard and shook her head, amusement evident on her face. "You're spending too much time with him, Ziva," she said, smiling good-naturedly.

Ziva flashed a small, personal smile, and looked up and across the room, locking eyes with the man in question. Tony shot her his own personal smile, tilted his beer towards her almost imperceptibly, and winked, his happiness warming Ziva's insides. "Not possible," Ziva told Abby. "Just not possible…"

"Awwww!" Abby crooned from beside her, getting even more excited. "See! Girl-talk!"

* * *

"I'm calling you out on that one, DiNozzo!" Ray said decisively. "It may be your birthday but you should've stopped while you were ahead, bro."

Tony laughed and smiled. "I only speak the truth, my friend."

Matt McNulty, Tony's old partner from his time in Baltimore PD, laughed to himself. "It sounds absolutely absurd in every way…_but_ if anyone was gonna get himself locked in a steel box for half a day—it's this fool right here," he told the group, doing his best to catch Tony in a head-lock. It was a half-assed head-lock as Matt was a head or two shorter than Tony, but the brotherly affection was there none-the-less.

The crowd laughed, but they still weren't totally convinced.

Half the group, McGee included, balked at that statement, but the younger Agent went to bat for his friend. "While I refuse to dispute the notion that Tony is often enough filled with hot air," he said, looking pointedly at Tony,—who flashed a _who, me?_ look—before continuing to address the group, "He does speak the truth this time."

Ray, Tony's frat brother, smiled and shook his head. "Nope, sorry, man, I'm not buyin' it."

Matt clucked his tongue and hissed. "I don't know, man, I'm on the fence here." He turned to his fiancé, Maggie, who had been watching the entire exchange in amused fascination, and threw his arm around her. "What do you say, babe?"

She sighed dramatically and spun her straw around in her nearly empty glass contemplatively. "I don't know. From everything you've told me about him…" Tony looked at Matt in fake astonishment and gave him a playful punch to the shoulder, a move that Matt reciprocated, and all of which made Maggie laugh even harder. "He is decidedly a prankster." She gave Matt a kiss as he put a triumphant arm around her shoulders. "I say make him prove it, babe."

Ray chuckled and nodded appreciatively in Matt's and Maggie's direction. "Nice," he complimented the pair. Then he turned to Tony smugly. "You heard the lady," he directed.

Tony laughed, a little stunned (but amused), and looked at McGee conspiratorially. "After that entire story—"

"…And the sworn word of two federal agents," McGee piped up, in sync with Tony's act.

"We still don't believe a word of it, DiNozzo," Ray declared.

Tony thought about it for a moment, smirking all the while, and shot a glance over in Ziva's direction, watching as she laughed with Abby at the bar—his living proof that they'd gotten _boxed in_. _Well, if he wants to play it that way…_ "Care to make it interesting then?" he asked his two friends.

"I thought your stories were supposed to already _be_ interesting, DiNozzo," Matt quipped coolly.

McGee couldn't help a brief chuckle, but when Tony cut his eyes to the younger agent sharply, he covered it up with a poor excuse for a fake cough. He looked back at his friends, serious…but amused. "I'm serious, guys. How much you wanna put on this?"

Ray, Maggie, and Matt all looked at each other. "Excuse us," Ray said, motioning for his two new friends to gather in a conspiratorial huddle. They whispered for a few moments and when they returned to the conversation they looked determined. "Fifty bucks each and a dare of the winners' choosing says that you, Anthony "Sex Machine" DiNozzo, are absolutely full of crap."

Matt and Maggie sniggered. "Sex machine?" he asked Tony, astounded.

Tony, for his part, just ignored them and stuck out his hand. "Deal."

"Deal," the opposing trio chorused together before laying their money out on the table.

"McGoo?" Tony asked, as he reached for his wallet and did the same.

"Already there, Tony," the younger agent said as he threw down his own money.

"Alright then," Tony said, clasping his hands together in anticipation. "What kind of confirmation do you losers want?" he asked, laughing all the while.

"You said your partner and you got locked in," Matt said.

"I did indeed," Tony agreed, now grinning, and shooting another surreptitious glance in Ziva's general direction.

Matt nodded. "So, if we get independent confirmation from your partner, you win."

"_BUT_," Ray added, smartly. "There will be no exertion of DiNozzo influence; so you don't get to say anything. Agreed?"

Tony nodded. "Agreed."

"Alright, then," Ray said. "Where is this guy anyway?"

"Yeah, I'm anxious to meet the new me," Matt threw in with a wink.

Tony and McGee laughed. "Well," Tony started, enjoying the set up to what he knew would be an interesting moment. "The new you is over there," he told Matt, pointing across the room to the bar.

The trio looked over to the area Tony indicated. "Which one, DiNozzo?" Ray asked.

"Well, you see that really tall blonde guy with the big teeth next to the two women laughing?"

"You mean the guy next to the chick who looks like death and her…friend?" Maggie asked him.

"You mean that dark skinned beauty with the tough-looking exterior?" Ray clarified.

Tony swallowed hard and nodded.

"That's your partner?" Matt asked. "_That_ dude?"

"No, actually," McGee said, coming stand over their shoulders. "His partner's the dark skinned beauty with the tough-looking exterior."

"DiNozzo, you DOG!" Matt cried, earning him an elbow to the stomach courtesy of his fiancé.

"Easy, McNulty, it's not like that," Tony lied easily, motioning for Ziva to amble in his direction. _I'm not gonna feel guilty about that one. Consider it a trade-off; I don't rough him up for ogling my girlfriend and he can stand being lied to._

Ray whistled suggestively and turned to grab Tony by the shoulders. "Well, might I suggest that you _make_ it like that, bro?" Tony clenched his jaw and ground his teeth, hoping to control the urge to deck his old, old, friend. "And if not, do you mind if _I_ try?" _Yes_, Tony internally screamed as visions of his frat brother falling all over Ziva flashed before him. _Touch her and die, Corbett_! Ray whistled again and slapped his leg. "Damn, that is one fine piece of—wait, where'd she go?" he asked, turning back around to look at Ziva and finding her not there.

"Looking for me?" Ziva asked, appearing like a mist behind the group of men, and sending Ray, Matt, and Maggie through the roof.

"Holy Crap!"

"Whoa!"

"Damn!"

"How'd you do that?" Ray asked, both spooked and impressed at the same time.

Ziva smirked imposingly. "Trade secret," she said simply.

"Must be some trade," Matt decided.

"Oh, you have _no_ idea," Tony said, unable to keep the pride from his voice.

"Ziva David, meet Ray Corbett, Matt McNulty and his fiancé Maggie." Ziva nodded to all of them. "Ray's one of my college frat brothers and Matt's my old partner from Baltimore," he added. "Guys—" Maggie cleared her throat. "—And _lady_—this is my partner."

They all shook hands, smiled, and nodded at each other. Ray stepped up last and held Ziva's hand a little too long in Tony's opinion, but he worked hard to let it go.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ziva," Ray said, playing it up for all it was worth—and pushing Tony's patience.

Matt looked appraisingly at Tony and noticed the tension that was rolling off him in waves. Ray went to say something else, but Matt, in all his wisdom, cut in before Casanova could get the chance. "So, we've, uh, been hearing a lot about you, Ziva. Can I call you Ziva?"

She nodded. "Please."

"Our boy here told us a whopper of a story about the two of you and a shipping yard container." Matt chuckled. "Gotta say, it was pretty far out there; none of us can exactly imagine it happening in, ya know—reality." The group laughed lightly.

"We were hoping you could shed some light on the events," Maggie supplied, also cutting off Ray before he could add his two cents.

"Well, I suppose I could be of assistance," she began coyly. Ziva looked over to Tony with a knowing look and quirked her eyebrow. She laughed lightly and looked back at the trio quite seriously, and realistically, quite _knowingly_. "What's the bet at?"

Everyone took a moment to look around for a spell and then broke out in large grins, some nodding in appreciation. "You're good," Ray noted, impressed.

Ziva gave a dry chuckled and took a step forward for the sake of show, and whispered, almost evilly, "Not really."

* * *

Gibbs watched their interactions carefully, noting when they looked at each other and their body language when they did so. He was listening to his gut—and he wasn't happy.

As he vigilantly observed Tony and Ziva, and took almost calculated pulls from his long-necked bottle of beer, he took some time to ponder his suspicions. He wasn't blind to the way they acted around each other; the attraction was always there—had been, since day one. He was also reasonably certain that their time spent undercover as married assassins—über horny married assassins, thanks to Tony's interpretation—hadn't jump-started the chemistry between his two agents so much as it had marginally satisfied the compulsion, essentially delaying what appeared to be this inevitable pairing…until now, it seemed.

But whether or not they _would_ jump each other's bones wasn't the question. It also wasn't his true concern. Agents had slipped before, given in to the attraction that develops between people who spend a great deal of their time together working in high-octane situations that pump up a person's blood…and libido. Gibbs knew—he'd done it.

Yes, he'd given in to that pull before, but he and Jenny had taken it _many_ steps further than just a momentary lapse in judgment or control. It hadn't been a one-time thing, and it hadn't been just a by-product of adrenaline and circumstance. If Jenny hadn't made the decisions she had, things would have been different; _he_ would've been different. _He would've been happy_, he realized sadly, before shaking himself out of his reverie and returning to his more pressing musings.

Tony and Ziva weren't he and Jenny. But they _were_ partners, they _were_ members of his team, and Damnit, they were breaking his rules—which meant they were also lying to him. A small part of him wanted to root for them, wanted them to be happy; but the rest of him was saying that that two of them were testing dangerous limits, and taking things too far.

Ducky tut-tut Gibbs's behavior from beside him. Ducky, too, saw what Gibbs was seeing in the interactions between Tony and Ziva, but unlike his seemingly stone-faced companion—who saw only the problems and the drawbacks and conflicts involved in such a coupling—Ducky opened himself up to the positives of such a relationship, his friends' happiness sitting atop the list. Yes, Ducky understood that conflicts existed in such a union; it wasn't as if he were a blissfully romantic fool who took nothing else into consideration. He just couldn't seem to understand why Gibbs was so utterly against it; almost as if he were forcing himself to refuse even the slightest possibility of a relationship between the two agents being anything but a disaster. "Would it really be such a detriment, Jethro? I daresay happiness has been in short supply around here lately," he argued, referring to the causalities the team had suffered recently—Gibbs's trauma and departure, the terrorist bombing, the dead agents…Ziva's injuries.

"They're lying to me, Duck," he explained, through almost clenched teeth. Gibbs wasn't one for displaying his emotions unnecessarily; he wasn't furious, but he was most definitely less than pleased. Pissed, tweaked, and perturbed were adjectives properly indicative of his mood and mindset.

"And we all know how you feel about that…" Ducky said, drily.

Gibbs showed his displeasure with Ducky's blasé attitude by slamming his beer down on the bar…hard. The beer inside sloshed around and made slapping noises against the glass walls of the bottle, a visual representation of the storm-tossed waters ahead, made so by the storm of displeasure churning inside of the time-worn agent.

"Just take a moment to decide, Jethro, what you take greater issue with: Tony and Ziva as a couple, or the fact that they've obviously been able to keep it from you for however long it may have been going on?"

"That's exactly my point, Duck," Gibbs said aggressively, his eyes cutting back over to the happy couple and the crowd they held court with across the room.

"Yes, they lied, Jethro. They broke your rules and kept secrets. Does it make you trust them less? Have they lost your faith? Have they disappointed you?"

Gibbs didn't answer any of the questions Ducky posed. They weren't meant for answering. Ducky's goal was to get him to stop and think. Both men knew that; they knew each other well. Ducky spared a final glance at his friend before making his way to the door, his job done.

Gibbs sighed inwardly, knowing that Ducky had hit on some of the softer points of his argument. Yes, they lied, but they hadn't betrayed him. It wasn't as if he didn't still trust both of them to have his back, and thus far they hadn't shown him that their affair, or whatever it was, was interfering with their work—obviously, as it had taken him until now to realize it. No, he hadn't lost faith in them, and though he took great issue with the deception, they hadn't disappointed him. But it _would _have to be dealt with.

And sooner rather than later.

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**I'm going on a "Learn to Cook Family Recipes" outing tomorrow so I'm not checking back in until I get home tomorrow. Who wants to wow me with an onslaught of reviews, huh? Really spur those creative juices? Ha ha.**** What do you think Gibbs is going to do, huh? What would you **_**like**_** him to do? Let me hear you!**


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